The Heart of the Matter
by jadntonic
Summary: The basics: AU ending to HBP. Pairings: various, het & slash, eventually HD. Aka, one of many takes on What Would Have Happened If Draco Had Lowered His Wand A Bit Sooner. Draco's POV.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One 

_'Responsibility is the price of freedom.'_  
- Elbert Hubbard

If there was one epithet that Draco Malfoy never thought could have been applied to him, it was the term 'blood traitor'.

Malfoys were pureblood in every sense of the word, and loyal to the Dark Lord and his cause. It was the world he'd been born into, the way he had been raised, trained, and tailored into a man. Draco trusted in this twisted sort of medieval ideology that he was better than the rest of the world based on his heritage alone, with the collateral wealth and political power vested in his father to boot.

Even from Azkaban, Lucius commanded a high reputation, weaving threads of enough blackmail and threats to turn the Ministry inside-out without so much as lifting a finger. His son was to supplement his presence where required, something Draco considered a compliment; acting as the representative of such power and respect was not something to be taken lightly, after all.

He would make his father proud, even if he had all but soiled himself standing in the presence of the Dark Lord at barely sixteen, enervated and terrified at the duty he had been given to make up for his father's failure. To earn his father's right to live, to protect his mother, to uphold everything he had to live for. Malfoys were not blood traitors, even in the face of annihilation. Draco would acquiesce the Dark Lord's command, even if it meant forfeiting the rest of his life for a cause he trusted and believed but never quite understood.

He _would _make his father proud, he told himself again. He _would _protect his mother. He _had _to. No Malfoy in history had earned the title of a blood traitor. Draco did not intend to be the first.

He didn't realise it at the time, that this moment would become the fork in the road of his life. This was the moment he had to decide; was he a murderer, or a traitor?

'Draco, Draco, you are not a killer.'

To kill in cold blood—

'No harm has been done...'

—or to betray those he loved.

'...you have hurt nobody.'

This was not a decision any sixteen-year-old should had ever had to make. But, no, he would not give in. He could not cave. He couldn't take the easy way out. He'd gotten this far... he was the one with the wand. His grip on it tightened; he stood up straighter, holding his chin higher. 'You're at my mercy...'

'No, Draco,' Dumbledore said calmly. Much too calmly for a weak, injured, unarmed old wizard being held at wand point. Blue eyes watched Draco from behind their half-moon spectacles, as serene and pastel as the afternoon summer sky. 'It is my mercy, and not yours, that matters now.'

At these words, Draco was overwhelmed with a blinding haze of fury at everything; at Dumbledore, for being so fucking calm and benevolent all the time, even in the face of his own demise; his father, for failing and expecting him to pick up the pieces; the Dark Lord, for being the biggest hypocrite of them all, and for forcing him to make this decision; at the whole war, for stealing his life away before he knew what the hell had happened.

He was sixteen. He should have been worrying about where to spend his summer holidays, hoping he'd get that new Firebolt prototype for his seventeenth birthday, or if he'd ever get his hands under Pansy's skirt, wondering if the Headmaster had enough brains to make him Head Boy his seventh-year...

And with a sudden jolt, looking down the smooth, dark wood of his wand to his target, Draco suddenly realised how very unlikely his having a seventh-year was anymore; how very unlikely just having a seventeenth birthday had suddenly become. He fought the strong urge that gripped his insides, the urge that wanted to flee to his dormitory and close the drapes and disappear under the covers. He didn't want to be here, didn't want to make this decision.

Dumbledore continued to watch him with those bright, halcyon orbs, silent and patient and far too understanding of a boy who came in here with the intent to kill him. Those eyes were offering Draco everything he'd been trying to find all year.

Safety. Compassion. Forgiveness.

A way out.

The tip of his wand faltered; slowly, at first, his wrist dipping an inch, then two, and suddenly his arm dropped to his side, sagging as if the weight of the world has dragged it down. He was barely able to keep his knees from following. He hated Dumbledore—always had—but not enough to kill him. Not enough to kill anybody.

And he hated the Dark Lord enough not to.

Dumbledore expelled out a breath Draco was unaware he had been holding. 'My wand, please, Draco.'

There was a terrified scream followed by a howl of rage somewhere downstairs. Draco snapped out of his stupor as the noises of the world suddenly reoriented him in his current situation, and without thinking he called Dumbledore's wand to him with a muttered _Accio_. With only a moment's hesitation, he stepped forward and, hand trembling, handed it back to the Headmaster.

Dumbledore was watching him irradiant eyes, and something warm and tingling unfurled in Draco's chest. He briefly considered that perhaps it was pride, but almost immediately he was thrown back into the here and now as Dumbledore raised his wand, once again a power to be reckoned with.

He pointed his wand at the far wall and said, softly, 'Quickly, Harry, we don't have much time.'

Draco's blood froze and he wheeled around. From nowhere, Harry Potter emerged, rolling his Invisibility Cloak up in his arms. He looked positively furious; at first, Draco thought, at him, but Potter rounded on Dumbledore instead. 'What the hell were you thinking?! If he hadn't—he could have—'

'Now is not the time, Harry,' Dumbledore interrupted, voice still quiet and even, but now with an underlying urgency. 'The important thing is that he did not, even with the opportunity.'

His gaze turned from Potter to Draco, who was now flushed and tense with suspicion and indignation. 'The two of you must get under the Cloak and keep out of the way.'

Potter began to open his mouth to protest, but Dumbledore raised a hand to silence him without moving his eyes from Draco. 'You may disagree with me later, Harry. You agreed to follow my orders, without question. Both of you, under the cloak, _now_.'

Potter's eyes snapped to Draco. He still looked furious, but he opened the cloak anyway and without so much as waiting for a response, stepped up to Draco and threw it over the both of them.

'Out of the way,' Dumbledore reminded them in a whisper. Over his words, Draco could hear the distant thuds as someone runs up the stairs... several someones...

'Move,' Potter hissed, seizing Draco by the elbows and dragging him backward.

Potter's grip was tight and vice-like on Draco's elbows, and would probably be hurting if Draco hadn't been so completely benumbed with fear as the door to the Astronomy Tower suddenly burst open, quelling any impulsive desire Draco had had to pull away from Potter. Four figures pile in, shrouded in dark cloaks. One of the group—short, a woman from the look of it, stepped forward, her wand raised.

'Alecto,' Dumbledore said pleasantly. 'Forgive me if I cannot say it's good to see you again.'

'Don't play coy, Dumbledore!' she warned. 'Where is the boy?'

'I'm afraid you'll need to be more specific,' Dumbledore replied patiently, 'for there are many boys housed in this institution.'

'Any will do for me.' The words were uttered through a nasty, low snarl. 'I'm not picky, Dumbledore. You know that.'

'My goodness,' Dumbledore said, sounding mildly surprised. 'Is that you, Fenrir?'

A throaty, barkish laugh answered him. 'Miss me?'

'No,' Dumbledore said, managing to make his regret sound genuine. 'I really can't say that I have.'

His calm blue eyes swept the group as he held his wand ahead of him, raised but not threateningly so. An enormous, blonde Death Eater with a brutal-looking face stepped forward beside Fenrir, eyes narrowed and wand held aloft. Dumbledore acknowledged him with a slight inclination of his head. 'It's been quite a while, Dolohov.'

'Enough with your tricks!' said the short, stumpy figure by Alecto's side, his wand also raised. 'We don't have time for your games, Dumbledore!'

'Games?' Dumbledore said mildly. 'These aren't games, my dear Amycus. These are manners.'

Draco could hear more people coming up the stairs. He wondered why none of the Death Eaters had attacked Dumbledore yet, who may have been armed, but was outnumbered four-to-one and was still wavering weakly by the opposite wall. But his blue eyes were fixed and his wand was held with a confidence that was beyond Draco's ability to understand. Draco could practically sense the fear the Death Eaters had of this old wizard, all too cowardly to strike first, each shooting one another furtive, sideways looks in hopes of provoking the other to make the first move. Dumbledore observed them all in a still silence.

Potter's grip had not loosened and Draco's elbows were growing stiff with pain from the bruises forming under his ironclad grip. One of his hands had both Draco's elbow and his wand, which was pointed at the group of Death Eaters, ready to attack from behind the safety of the cloak if needed. Greyback was closest to them, and Draco could smell the dried blood on his clothes.

It was also beyond Draco how Potter could even pretend to be brave enough in this situation, as if he could do anything against three armed Death Eaters and a fucking werewolf, even with Dumbledore there. He could feel Potter's breath on the back of his neck, shallow and even, the heartbeat against his back remarkably calm, as if used to standing in the face of its own demise.

Draco would have never let Potter this close to him before, sod the circumstances, and he was sure Potter felt the same, but both knew better than to move. Instead, he wanted to say something, to ask Potter what the hell he should be doing, if he should be doing anything, or should he just get out of the way, because he didn't feel able to charm a lock open at the moment, much less send a curse flying at the snarling, ragged form of Greyback standing ten feet ahead of him.

The atmosphere was so thick he could have sliced it with a knife, and just as the air felt like it was about to break, Snape barrelled into the room.

Draco felt Potter go rigid behind him, his heart skipping a beat and then plunging into overdrive. The hand holding his wand released Draco's elbow, and he held it higher, steadier, aiming his wand directly at Snape. Draco turned his head to look at Potter over his shoulder and mouthed, 'What the hell are you doing?' but Potter ignored him, eyes narrowed and focused on the Potions Master.

'Severus!' Alecto hissed, whirling on him. 'Where the hell have you been?'

Snape ignored her question. 'Have you found the boy?' he demanded.

'This old fool's hiding him,' Amycus snapped, pointing at Dumbledore. 'I bet my life—that boy's bad blood, just like his filthy cousins.'

Snape's eyes, almost involuntarily, flickered to Dumbledore; no words were exchanged, but some sort of understanding must have passed between their gazes, because Draco suddenly found himself forced to the floor by his shoulders as the room erupted in an explosion of lights and colours and bangs, like some sort of massive, spectral firework.

Someone shouted in surprise, Draco heard an enraged snarl nearby, and there were several loud thuds. Another spell exploded right above where Draco and Potter laid on the cold floor, still disguised with the cloak. Before Draco could recover from the shock, he was hauled to his feet by strong arms; these strong arms end up belonging to Potter, and Draco hissed and wrenched away from him.

Potter ignored him and wrapped the cloak back up in his arms. There were three bodies on the floor; Fenrir was gone, and the other Death Eaters laid Stunned in a haphazard pile between Snape and Dumbledore.

'Thank you, Severus,' Dumbledore said quietly. His eyes switched their focus to Draco, who was still edging away from Potter but unsure of where else to go. 'I need to assist the others. You know what you must do,' he said. He conjured a quill and parchment out of thin air and began writing very quickly against the wall.

Snape walked over to him and took the parchment when he finished and nodded. 'I counted half a dozen on my way up.'

Potter moved to follow Dumbledore on his way out, but Dumbledore halted him with a forcible gesture. 'No, Harry, you are to go with Professor Snape and Mr Malfoy.'

'What?' Potter snapped. 'The bloody hell I—'

'Disagree with me later, Harry,' Dumbledore said once again, very firmly. 'You are to accompany Professor Snape and Mr Malfoy. I will send an owl. Go.'

As Dumbledore turned and exited down the stairs, Potter started forward. 'But—'

'Potter!' Snape's fist crushed the parchment in his hand. He stepped forward, cutting Potter's route to follow Dumbledore short. 'You heard the Headmaster, and you will do as you're told. Draco,' Snape's eyes flickered to his student, cold and hard, 'now is not the time for delays. Read this, quickly, and memorise.'

Draco blinked briefly at the parchment Snape shoved at him but did not read it. He didn't care what was written there, or where Snape intended to take him. He didn't even care that Potter was supposed to go with him. It felt like Dumbledore's words had hooked onto his stomach and dragged it out of the tower with him.

'But,' he began, looking between Snape and the door, 'what about my mother? He said he'd—'

'_Read it_,' Snape snarled again, in a tone that demanded obedience. He offered the note once more and this time, albeit grudgingly, Draco accepted it. Smoothing the wrinkled parchment, he read the narrow handwriting quickly:

_The Headquarters to the Order of the Phoenix can be found at  
Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, London._

_- - -_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

_Feeling second fiddle to a dead man  
Up to my neck with your disregard  
Like a beat dog thats walking on the Broadway  
Sister luck is screaming out somebody else's name_  
- Black Crowes

Number twelve, Grimmauld Place, as it turned out, was a very tall, foreboding building that looked as if it had been built out of Black Death and bad memories. Grime encrusted the dark windows and the front lawn was a morbid landscape, home to only stray, baneful-looking weeds and sporadic patches of yellowing grass. Potter led the way down the dark walk, stopping short in front of the black door.

There was an ornate, silver knocker in the shape of a twisted serpent nailed to it. Potter hissed quietly at it, and Draco felt himself shiver; beside him, he felt Snape similarly shudder. The knocker hissed back and, with a soft click, the door swung inward. Snape and Draco followed him inside.

The entrance hall was fairly small considering the overall size of the house, or at least it looked that way in the dark. Wallpaper was peeling off the walls around numerous old portraits that were covered, abandoned, or blackened with age. A tall candelabra in the shape of an upright serpent stood off to one side, and there was an troll's leg umbrella can beside it. A thin, wooden staircase with a carved banister disappeared into darkness upstairs.

It was unnaturally quiet and extremely cold in the house, and Draco had never wanted to be at home so much in his entire life. If this was Headquarters to the other side of the war, he was a dead man for sure.

'What about my mother?' he demanded, rounding on Snape.

'Shh!' Potter hissed at him.

Draco turned back to tell Potter just where he could shove his shushing, when the drapes on one of the portraits flew open and a furious voice began screeching at an ear-piercing level. 'FILTH! MUD! BESMIRCHING THE HOUSE OF MY FOREFATHERS! BLOOD TRAIT—'

'Shut _up_!' Potter snapped, slamming the drapes shut, behind which the muffled shouts of rage could still be heard. He turned his head back to Draco. 'Keep your voice _down_, Malfoy.'

Draco opened his mouth to retort, but before he could say a word or Snape could intervene, the front door burst open behind them. Several figures piled in quickly, talking in loud, frantic voices. Draco backed against the wall as he realised, even in the darkness of the hall, that half the voices were sporting bright-red hair.

'Where is he? I'm going to kill him!'

'Ron, you're not killing anyone—where's—Ginny, here, hold Crookshanks for a mo—'

'You hold your cat yourself. I'm going to kill him _first_.'

'No one is going to be killing anyone, Weasley,' Snape said firmly, his low monotone slicing through their chatter. 'May I remind you that you are still underage and do not possess the privilege of using magic outside of school grounds.'

The two Weasley brats and Granger looked up at him, startled. Lupin appeared behind them over the girls' heads, and looked relieved to see Snape. Ginny looked past Snape, saw Draco, and narrowed her eyes.

'Who said anything about magic?' she demanded. 'I'll kill him with my bare hands.'

'I'd like to see you try, wench,' Draco snapped back.

'Don't you talk to her like that, Malfoy,' Potter said from behind him.

'Or what? You'll try to hack me in half again?'

'Maybe I will!'

'Potter! Just because we're off school grounds does not mean I will tolerate you threatening my students,' Snape said coldly.

'I'll threaten who I want in my own house!' Potter snapped back. The portrait he held covered began wailing again.

'That's_ enough_,' snarled a deep voice Draco didn't recognise. He turned around and was shocked to find it had been Lupin that stepped forward. Draco noticed that he looked a lot bigger up close. 'There are more important things happening right now. Your differences can wait. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny—upstairs. I need to have a word with Draco and Severus alone.'

Four mouths opened to protest, only to be quelled again but a quiet but firm, 'No arguments.'

Draco pressed himself against the wall as Ginny moved past him, practically hissing. Potter stood his ground at the foot of the stairs as her brother and Granger passed him, looking furious and determined.

'Harry,' Lupin said patiently. 'Please, upstairs.'

'Why can't I—'

'Potter, did you or did you not hear the man a moment ago?' Snape said icily. 'There are more important things than _you _at the moment. Do us a favour and make yourself scarce.'

Potter gave him a very cold look, and then snarled a long, guttural hiss. Snape narrowed his eyes.

'Upstairs,' Lupin ordered again, the patience now waned from his voice. Potter gave them all a contemptuous look, swore, and then jogged quietly up the stairs. Lupin waited until they could hear him begin the second flight before leading the way into the living room.

'The outcome?' Snape demanded immediately.

'Bad,' Lupin admitted. 'Could be worse, though—no dead, not on our side, as far as I know, though Bill's pretty badly injured.' He shook his head. 'I don't know how they managed it. Those children should have been killed.'

'Well, we have Potter to thank for instigating their recklessness, I'm sure,' Snape said coldly. 'And the others?'

'Two dead, five incapacitated.'

'And Dumbledore?'

'Still there. The Ministry had just started to arrive when I left, we needed to get as many of them out of there before Scrimgeour got his hands on them. Dumbledore thinks—'

'Excuse me, _sir_,' Draco cut in, tired of being ignored. 'What about my_ mother_?'

Lupin's expression softened a little. 'Alastor and Kingsley set off for the Manor the minute the situation at Hogwarts was under control.' He turned back to Snape. 'Dumbledore thinks the reason there were so few was because they were using it as a diversion, but of course the Minister won't hear a word of it.'

'Would make sense,' Snape agreed. 'Bellatrix wasn't there, and she wouldn't have told me if she had other plans. I suspect Azkaban—?'

'More than likely.'

'Lovely.'

'What are you talking about?' Draco asked. 'What _about _Azkaban?'

Before either man could answer him, the door opened again and heavy footsteps could be heard in the hall. Draco turned around to see Mad-Eye Moody and a bald, powerful-looking black wizard enter the living room. They were both soaking wet, and it was only then that Draco noticed it had started raining outside.

'Alastor, Kingsley,' Lupin said quickly. 'Was there trouble?'

Draco looked from the two men to Lupin, and back again. 'Where's my mother?' he demanded.

Moody and Kingsley exchanged glances.

'We got there as quickly as we could,' Kingsley said, and Draco suddenly felt his blood run cold.

Moody heaved a heavy sigh and shrugged off his leather cloak, slapping the wet fabric on the sofa. 'Lucius was already there.'

Draco blinked; this was not the response he expected. 'But my father's in—'

'_Was _in,' Kingsley corrected him. 'While half the lot attacked Hogwarts, the others raided Azkaban. You-Know-Who was with them. With half the Ministry at the school there was no way they could do anything—the Dementors all turned on the guards, and they didn't just release Death Eaters,' he added gravely. 'They let them _all _out.'

'Good lord,' Lupin said.

Draco was growing increasingly furious. He'd been asking the same question since leaving the bloody tower, and though it was a fairly simple one, no one seemed willing to give him a simple answer.

'Where. Is. My. Mother?' he snarled, speaking very slowly.

'I told you, boy,' Moody growled, focusing both eyes on him. 'Lucius got to her first.'

Snape closed his eyes and let out a slow breath, as if he had been expecting the worst and it had just been confirmed. Lupin moved forward and put a hand on Draco's shoulder. Draco ignored him, still glaring at the pair of them. 'What do you mea—'

'You're mother's dead, Malfoy,' Moody growled. 'Your father killed her.'

There was a tense, deathly silence in the room. When Draco spoke again, his voice sounded oddly high-pitched. 'You're lying.'

'Why would I bother to lie about it?' Moody asked. He sat down beside his cloak and began calmly charming his clothes dry with his wand, as if he hadn't just informed Draco that his entire world had been destroyed.

'I don't know!' Draco exploded, wrenching his shoulder away from Lupin. He had the sudden urge to smash something, perhaps that stupid, ugly face, until he admitted he was full of it. 'Father wouldn't—he'd never—'

'We saw it happen,' Kingsley interrupted. 'He tried to use her as collateral. Said she'd live if we gave him you.' He sat down across from Moody and wiped the beads of water off his head. 'Narcissa didn't even give us a chance to negotiate. She said she'd rather die than hand you over to—'

'No!' he shouted. He was shaking his head so fervently it was beginning to hurt. 'No. No. You're lying. He'd never—Mother wouldn't—'

The words died in Draco's throat as Moody tossed something small and gold to the floor. Coming to a circumvolutory halt on the threadbare carpet at his feet, was his mother's wedding ring.

- - -

There was only one room on the first floor. He could hear voices coming from it and continued past it, unconcerned that his thudding had awoken the portrait downstairs again. The second floor had two rooms and, only pausing for the briefest moment to make sure it was silent inside, he picked the one at the far end of the hall and dashed inside.

It just was not his night.

Potter whirled around, startled by the abrupt entrance. He was standing by the open wardrobe in the opposite corner of the room. Draco dimly noted the high-ceiling and double beds before he remembered that the whole reason for all of this—the Dark Lord's return, his father's imprisonment, his mother's fate—was standing right in front of him. Senses cast aside and wand be damned, Draco lunged at him with his bare hands. Potter, narrowing his eyes, only had time to put his hands up in his own defence as Draco slammed him against the wall.

Potter may have been stronger, but Draco was taller, and skinny or not he was still a vigorous teenager and fuelled by adrenaline and fury. Potter cursed and tried to heave him off and go for his wand, but Draco grabbed the hilt of it first and yanked it away from him, throwing it aside. He had one forearm jammed under Potter's throat and the other holding the wrist of his wand arm, while Potter punched him hard in the stomach with his left hand.

'Get—off! _Malfoy_!' Potter snarled, swearing.

Draco ignored the second punch and pressed his forearm in harder, slamming Potter's head back into the wall again. He was viciously satisfied to hear Potter choke. 'You stupid—selfish—I should fucking kill you—I fucking _hate_ you, you fucking pillock!'

Potter stopped trying to punch him and went to deal the more immediate problem of his being choked. With one hand managed to push Draco's elbow out enough so he could breath. 'What the fuck is your problem?!'

'_You_!' Draco snarled, slamming Potter's wrist back as he tried to writhe out of his grip. '_You _are the fucking problem, just like you're _always _the fucking problem!'

Abandoning his hold on Potter's neck and wrist, Draco balled his hands into fists and beat them against every inch of the stupid pillock he could reach. Potter gasped as his fists slammed against his collarbone, and he caught Draco's wrists even as he kept trying to hit him, holding him steady. 'Malfoy! Stop!'

But Draco wasn't stopping. He'd never stop, not until he hurt Potter as much as he possibly could, until Potter looked like he felt—like a beaten, bloody pulp of a corpse, cast aside and forgotten by all except the shadows. He had to keep hurting Potter, because he couldn't let Potter see him like this again; he had no right, no fucking business seeing Draco like this, exposed and broken and unable to hold it in. He had no right to see Draco _feel_.

Potter didn't look angry or contemptuous anymore, but simply bewildered. 'Malfoy, what—'

'It's your fault,' Draco rasped out, punching his shoulder. Then he tried to pull away, but Potter held his wrists firm. Draco hit him again. 'It's all your fault. _Your _fault that she's—she's—'

Potter's eyes narrowed briefly before they widened. His grip on Draco's wrists tightened. 'Your mother?' he asked tentatively.

Draco let out an enraged cry and beat his fists against Potter's chest again. He was dimly aware that he was crying, and that Potter still had a hold of his wrists, but made no move to stop him; Potter just closed his eyes and took the assault, and somewhere in the middle of it all, Draco's knees stopped working and he sunk down to the floor. Potter went with him, and all Draco wanted to do was keep hitting him and hitting him until he'd cried enough to drown them both in his misery.

He didn't know how long he crouched there on the floor, forehead pressed against Potter's shoulder and sobbing like a two-year-old, but his body was aching and the left side of Potter's shirt was sopping with his snot and tears by the time he quieted. Potter waited patiently until his breathing came even again before he spoke.

'Listen, Malfoy—'

Draco tried to push him away, but his energy was spent. 'Go away,' he said weakly.

'No,' Potter said. The stubborn fucking git just _had _to rub it in. 'Not this time.'

'Fuck off.'

'Shut up,' Potter ordered. He let go of Draco's wrists but did not get up. 'God. Just. Shut up, Malfoy.'

Draco did not waste the breath to point out he'd stopped talking. Released, he rolled away from Potter, planting his back against the wall and pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. In his peripheral vision he saw Potter look down at the wet spot on his shirt and wrinkle his nose. He straighted his glasses and leaned forward, picking something up off the floor that Draco'd dropped in the fight.

After a moment, Potter said, 'Was this hers?'

Draco ignored him, choking down another sob. Potter didn't understand. He never could. His parents had been dead from the beginning.

Lucky him.

'What happened?'

'None of your fucking business.'

'I think it's some of my business.'

'Well, you're wrong.'

Potter finally looked at him. Draco could feel his eyes rake down to his left forearm, left partially uncovered by the struggle. The mark there was scorched black, cold to the touch and burning into his flesh just the same.

'I'm sorry about your mother,' Potter said finally. 'Really. If there was anything I could have—'

'Shut up!' Draco shouted, pulling his knees in tighter. 'I don't want to hear it. She's dead. I failed, and she's dead.'

'I'm just trying to—'

'I don't want your help, and I don't deserve any comfort!' Draco shouted again, closing his eyes. 'Just shut the fuck up and go away.'

He heard Potter shift, and then there was silence. No sounds of footsteps. When Draco finally opened his eyes again to check if Potter was gone, he wasn't. He was looking back up at Draco's face, eyebrows pinched together.

'Why do you push away the people that try to help you?' he asked.

'What?' Draco looked up at him, startled. 'What the fuck are you—I don't—you're not—'

'I am,' Potter told him firmly. 'You're a right bastard and I've met Blast-Ended Skrewts I like more than you, but I'm still trying to help you. And so was Snape—I heard the two of you arguing at the Christmas party, don't look so surprised. What's your deal?'

Draco managed to lift his lips in a half-hearted sneer before turning away. 'Fuck off, Potter. You don't know the half of it.'

'Oh, don't I? You think you're the only one who's lost somebody, Malfoy? The only one who's had to deal with _Him_?'

'I don't see a tattoo on your forearm!'

'Maybe not,' Potter snapped, and Draco recoiled as he crawled over until he was in front of Draco. Potter thrust his forearm at Draco, sleeve pulled back to bare his arm. A long, jagged scar ran from his wrist to his elbow. 'But he's left more than one reminder for me. I understand a lot better than you think I do.'

'Yes, Potter, I forgot. Your ugly scars give you such a _better _grasp on the situation.' Draco snorted mirthlessly, looking away. 'Spare me, would you?'

If he had been looking, he would have seen Potter frown. He pulled his arm back and studied Draco in silence for several tense moments with an unrelenting green stare that Draco forcibly ignored.

'I don't understand you,' Potter finally admitted.

'I don't care,' Draco informed him coolly, eyes snapping back to his face. 'Why are you _still here_?'

'Well, this is my house, you see.'

'And?'

'And my room,' Potter finished, raising his eyebrows. 'You burst in on me, remember?'

When Draco didn't answer, Potter stood up, dusting off his jeans and straightening his shirt. Then he offered Draco a hand up. Draco scowled at it.

'Please go away,' Draco said again, uncaring that his voice was thick with fresh tears. He was simply too exhausted to give a damn anymore.

'I will,' Potter told him. 'If you get off the floor and come lie down.'

'I don't need your coddling.'

'I'm sure you don't,' Potter replied calmly. 'But if you want me to leave, you'll at least get off the floor.'

'Merlin, you're insufferable,' Draco spat, glaring up at him. 'Why are you doing this? Are you enjoying this _that_ much?'

Potter stared at him, hand faltering slightly. 'No,' he said shortly. He sounded... oddly furious. 'I'm not enjoying it at all, actually. Now get the fuck off my floor, Malfoy.'

Draco ignored his hand and stood up on his own, glaring through the tears.

Potter scowled right back and shoved his hands in his pockets. 'There's linens in the wardrobe,' he said. 'Kreacher doesn't do jack in this house, so you'll have to make your own bed.' When Draco just stared at him, Potter added, 'You do know _how_, don't you?'

'Of course I fucking know how,' he spat. 'House elves don't make dorm beds, if you recall.'

'Good, otherwise you'd be sleeping on a bare mattress,' Potter spat back. 'The bathroom's upstairs, on the left. Don't use the one on the floor above that, there's a ghoul living in the toilet.'

Draco wrinkled his nose. 'A ghoul. How quaint. This is a lovely house you own, Potter.'

There was nothing remotely gracious about the smirk that Potter adopted. 'If Sirius hadn't left it to me, it'd probably be yours, now.'

Before Draco could retort, the door creaked open and Weasley stuck his head in. 'Oh,' he said, spotting Draco and scowling. 'Is he giving you trouble?' he asked Potter.

Draco scowled right back and turned away, enough of his pride still intact that he was determined not to let a Weasley see him in his current sorry state. He heard Potter behind him say, 'No, it's all right. Is he here yet?'

'No,' Weasley answered. 'I heard Snape saying Dumbledore won't be here 'till morning.'

'Right,' Potter returned. Then, 'Okay. I'll be down in a minute.'

Draco heard footsteps, then the door close again. He had a brief moment of peace where he imagined the possibility that Potter might have finally taken the hint and left him to be miserable in peace.

A quiet shuffle behind him made him heave a heavy sigh and despair at the intelligence of Gryffindors.

'Just—' Potter began, faltering briefly. 'Just try to get some sleep, all right?'

Draco rolled his eyes. A waste of effort, he realised after, because Potter couldn't see it. 'You think?'

There was a pause, then more footsteps. _Finally_, he thought.

Another pause followed the door creaking open, the Potter's tentative voice asking, 'Malfoy?'

Draco was going to kill him. '_What_?'

Potter hesitated, then mumbled very quickly, 'D'you need anything?'

He closed his eyes and willed himself not to spin around and hex Potter into the next week. 'Just for you to piss off, thanks.'

Potter slammed the door so hard the portrait downstairs started wailing all over again. Draco retrieved linens from the wardrobe, sunk onto the nearest bed and attempted to drown himself in the duvet.

- - -


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

_Your hands are really shakin' something awful  
As your worries crawl around inside your clothes  
How long will you be sittin in the darkness  
Heaven knows_  
- J. Osborne

Draco spent the next two days in bed.

It felt more like a week, but he carefully counted the number of times the sun appeared and disappeared outside the window, casting warm shadows around his room through the drapes. They began as small orange lines against the door, and slowly stretched into long, diagonal rectangles across the bottom-half of the door and the floor. He would spend most of his day watching the dust turn golden and spin in the light, like a million tiny, dancing Snitches.

The rest of his room remained dark and indistinct, and he sought refuge in the aphotic corner his bed resided in, comparing the tiny dust Snitches to the way sunlight used to reflect off his mother's hair on a bright day. Or thinking about how she'd never send the house-elf to wake him during the summer months when he slept in like Father had, but always came into his room herself, and her soft murmurs and light touch on his hair would slowly pull him from sleep.

And he'd think about how he would never see or hear or feel any of those things ever again.

His bed at home was much larger and comfortable than his bed here._ Potter's bed_, he corrected himself. Whatever. Potter had obviously found himself somewhere else to sleep, and so far he and his lot had mercifully left Draco alone. Leaving the room only in the early or late hours when the house had grown still to plod upstairs to the loo, Draco was aware but uncaring of the fact that he'd been lying and sleeping in the same robes for three consecutive days. He had not combed his hair or brushed his teeth, much less ingested anything that wasn't water straight from the tap.

He liked the routine; the less energy he had, the less of it he could waste on weeping. If he kept himself exhausted beyond tears, he didn't have to cry. He could mourn like a man was supposed to—aching and in despair, but composed.

What Potter had witnessed had been unfortunate timing and circumstance. It would not happen again.

Draco did not acknowledge the fact that he'd promised himself that very same thing last time Potter caught him weeping like a small child. He decided to skip his evening trip to the loo, and eventually his mind faded into a fitful sort of sleep, filled with blue eyes and golden hair that shone in the sunlight.

Draco was profoundly glad he never remembered his dreams.

- - -

He woke with a start the third day. Judging by the rectangles of light on the floor, it was about midday. The soft knock sounded his door again, and Draco rolled over to face the wall and ignored it.

He closed his eyes as he heard the door open. Whoever it was could sod off, because he refused to acknowledge he was awake. Mother would have known better than to bother him like this.

When Draco had been very small, about five, he'd gotten his first familiar. It was just a kitten, but it was the first living thing he could ever call his own, and he'd become absolutely infatuated with it in the span of the five days he'd had it. He couldn't even remember it's name anymore, but at the time it was the centre of his little universe. But Draco was five and did not understand about things like morality and had left his window wide open one summer evening and the kitten had gotten out. Unguarded and alone it had wandered into the garden, and down the long path beyond and never returned.

Draco did not know what lie beyond the path behind the garden, even now as a young adult. Father had forbidden him to ever to go, and no matter how much he had loved the kitten, he would not disobey his father. So he had never found out what happened to that stupid cat, but five-year-old Draco had spent the next week in his room, living off only whatever Dobby had brought him, because he couldn't let Father see him cry over anything, especially a kitten. Mother had understood that. She would understand that he couldn't be seen like this, not by anyone, and that he would come back to the world when he was ready.

Gods, he missed her.

'Draco? Are you awake, dear?'

The use of his first name startled him, but he did not move and forced his breathing to remain shallow. He had been expecting Potter, demanding his room back, or perhaps the werewolf, but this voice was female. Older. Motherly, even. The concern in her tone was not false, and for half a crazy moment, Draco considered rolling over.

'All right, dear,' said the voice that clearly knew he was awake. 'I'll just leave this for you. But you should know that Severus and Albus will be stopping by this evening after tea, and they'll be wanting to speak with you.'

He waited until the door had closed before rolling over and slowly sitting up. On the stand by his bed—_Potter's bed_—sat a silver tray with a pitcher of what looked like pumpkin juice, a kettle of tea with a cup, and a small selection of comestibles. Draco had been able to ignore the hunger pangs until now, and his stomach growled aloud and he reached over and plucked an apple off the tray to placate his body for the time being.

On the bed by his feet were a small pile of Muggle clothes. Draco only had to sniff his present robes once to decide that they would be worth changing into, if only to be kind to Snape when he came to call. Finishing the apple and going through the entire kettle, Draco grabbed the clothes and snuck upstairs to the bathroom, which was thankfully deserted.

He had only been to the Black House when he was very small, but he still remembered this bathroom. When he had been three, the tub had been like a pool to him. He could hear the ghoul in the bathroom above his own as he started the bath, howling and clanging against the pipes. While the tub filled, Draco leaned over the sink and studied his face in the mirror; his eyes were sunken and swollen, lids dark pink and raw, old tear trails were caked onto his cheeks, and his hair was an oleaginous disaster, knotted and matted from being cried on and neglected.

'Merlin's beard, you look repulsive,' the mirror informed him. 'Don't let Mistress see you in like that. She'll have your eyes out, boy.'

Grimacing in self-disgust, Draco turned away from mirror and decided drowning himself in the tub was not an option, as being found by Potter and assorted Weasleys in such a state of disgrace would simply not be fit for his end.

Maybe tomorrow, after the swelling had gone down.

- - -

Either Draco was imagining things, or Potter's house was rather infatuated with him.

After a long and undisturbed soak in the tub, the mirror informed him he'd look much nicer if he removed the scowl, but that he was bound to survive the Mistress' opinion. Draco did not bother pointing out said Mistress had been dead and gone for years, because mirrors didn't tend to retain information all that well, and the simple fact that he thought it was amusing that Potter's own house didn't acknowledge him as the owner.

The Muggle clothes he'd been given fit reasonably well, so they couldn't have been Potter's, because Potter was shorter than he was. Or Weasley's, for that matter, otherwise he'd have had to roll up the cuffs. This made him feel reasonable better about wearing them. They weren't bad, really; The jeans were very dark blue, almost black, and there was a long-sleeved grey shirt to wear under the black, short-sleeved button-up. He looked all right, he decided, and it was nice to get out of the school robes. They had become odorous to a really repulsive degree.

His hair was still damp but in order when he finally left the bathroom, and the portrait on the wall outside had looked up at him and smiled approvingly. Then it had said, 'Those clothes don't suit you at all, but you're fine-looking boy.' Even though Draco was well aware he was nothing special in the looks department, he still possessed enough aristocratic features that he was used to receiving compliments from portraits in pure-blood establishments. But it wasn't until he'd wandered downstairs into the living room that he realised that he was, perhaps, the only person present that the house seemed willing to cooperate for.

Lupin and a young, brightly-coloured witch were wrestling with the mantle, which was simply refusing to open its iron gate. The young witch had short, shockingly pink hair stuck up in spikes and was dressed similarly to Draco, her wand sticking out the back pocket of her jeans. She had one boot up on the fireplace and clawed at the iron bars with both hands.

'Bloody buggering stupid arsing piece of—'

'Language, darling,' Lupin remarked absently, abandoning the mantle as he looked up and saw Draco. 'Hullo, Draco. How're you feeling?'

The witch turned her head and blinked in surprise at him. She had a heart-shaped face and a pinched-looking nose, but very familiar eyes. As soon as she was distracted, the fireplace slammed its gate closed on her fingers with a loud snap. She uttered a long string of words that made Lupin attempt to frown and smile simultaneously.

'I'm fine,' she declared as Lupin attempted to check her fingers, which she promptly stuck in her mouth to suck on.

It was very cold in the room, Draco decided, and it would be much warmer with a fire going. Stepping between the two, he squatted before the fireplace and tapped the gate with his wand.

'Draco,' Lupin began, 'I don't think that's—'

Draco ignored him and laid his palm against the gate, saying, 'I'm cold. Open up.'

Lupin and the witch blinked as the mantle slid smoothly open at once, and even went as far to set the wood on the grate alight. It crackled merrily, and Draco stayed where he was for a moment, enjoying the warmth, before standing up and turning around. Lupin and the witch were both staring at him dubiously. He smirked.

'Pure-blood,' he said, by way of explanation.

Lupin smiled faintly. The witch grimaced. 'That's not fair. I'm just as much Black as you are.'

The full significance of her statement took an extra moment to sink for Draco. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'What?'

'Oh,' the witch said, looking startled. Lupin was smiling openly now and made an encouraging gesture. 'Er,' she said after a moment. 'I don't believe we've properly met.'

Draco raised an eyebrow. 'Obviously.'

'Oh, you _are_ just like your mum,' she remarked absently. Then at the look on his face, added, 'Oh, sorry, I didn't mean—bugger, I'm terrible at this.'

She looked to Lupin for help, who offered, 'She's Andromeda Black's daughter. Your cousin.'

Well, thought Draco, that explained the eyes. 'The half-blood?'

Lupin frowned and the witch folded her arms. 'Yes, I'm half-blood,' she said. 'Just like your buddy Snape.'

'And just like Voldemort,' said a voice behind them. Lupin stepped aside to reveal Potter, standing alone in the hall. 'You remember him, don't you? The one you swore allegiance to?'

'Fuck you, Potter,' Draco spat. 'The Dark Lord is better wizard than any of you.'

'Half the wizard, from your angle,' Potter shot back.

'Children,' Lupin interrupted. 'The bigotry really needs to stop. You are both on the same side, now.'

Draco lifted his chin. 'I'm not on anybody's side.'

'Then you're going to find yourself very alone and without aid,' Lupin informed him. 'I understand times have been hard for you, Draco. They've been hard for all of us, and you are only one of many to have suffered losses.'

'Remus is right,' the witch said before either boy could retort. She cast a wary look at Draco before stepping forward, uninjured hand outstretched. 'We can at least try to get along. I'm Tonks.'

Draco looked at her hand. Just as he decided to tell her where to shove it, he looked up at her eyes, and all he saw there was his mother.

He took her hand and shook it once, and she beamed at him. Lupin looked pleased while Potter just looked dumbstruck.

'Nice to meet you, my dear Tonks,' she supplied for Draco as he remained silent. She did a decent imitation of his drawl. 'My name's Draco. I've heard heaps about you, you look just like your dear mum, but don't we all? Let's skip the pleasantries and go have a drink.'

Lupin suddenly looked a lot less pleased. 'Ah, I'm not sure—'

'I'm of age,' Draco informed him shortly, casting a smirk Potter's way. 'Unlike _some_ people.' He smiled at Tonks. 'I'd love to.'

'Excellent!' Tonks closed her hand around his and dragged him towards the hall. 'You like Firewhisky?'

He sneered smugly at Potter on their way past. 'Love it.'

Draco was viciously pleased to see Potter, scowling, give him the finger as she pulled him the stairs towards the kitchen.

- - -


	4. Chapter 4

**Please note**: If you bother to visit this chapter as posted on my LJ, you'll see that it was written _and_ posted **before **JKR announced that Tonks was in Hufflepuff. I won't be changing what I've written to fit that, as Tonks as a Slytherin fits in fairly well for her character here.  
_  
_

Chapter Four

_I've never felt so lonely  
Never felt so out of place  
I've never wanted something more than this_  
- Savage Garden 

When teatime finally rolled around, Draco had long migrated back into his room, lest he find himself in a kitchen full of very unfriendly freckles and glares. Tonks had gone with him, tripping over half the steps and carrying a pile of her spare clothes—he'd found out the clothes he'd been borrowing were hers.

She talked a lot, and it reminded him much of himself back at school before the war. He wondered for a while how anyone could still be so happy; she'd told him she was going to be twenty-six that August, but she acted much like Pansy Parkinson had at the Yule Ball after ingesting far too much cake—like a hyperactive six-year-old. He found it refreshing and, more importantly, distracting, and he was grateful for her company.

When she'd told him she was a Metamorphmagus, he'd been incredibly jealous. Why couldn't _he _have been born one? Oh, the chaos he would have caused. She then amused him fully by, albeit a bit slurrishly, describing how she had done just that during her years at Hogwarts.

Her favourite had been in her sixth year, when she discovered that impersonating Professor McGonagall and then attempting to teach first-years Transfiguration was a very, very bad idea and grounds to get one's self expelled. Dumbledore had apparently found the whole ordeal highly amusing and let her off, as long as she promised to ask permission next time, because impersonating people could come off as a bit rude.

Draco felt like he hadn't laughed in years.

She was currently sitting cross-legged on the bed across from him and doing a very accurate imitation of McGonagall reprimanding a student. It looked rather silly because she'd morphed herself into a disturbingly accurate image of himself, despite the fact that she was a girl. When he pointed it out, she'd told him he was an easy boy to impersonate, because she had small breasts and he looked very feminine.

'I do _not_,' he protested, mildly insulted.

Also, he didn't think her breasts were _that _small—but then he reminded himself that this girl was supposedly his _cousin_, not to mention ten years older than he was, no matter how pretty she was.

Also, he still technically had a girlfriend.

'It's not an _insult_,' she insisted. 'It's just a Black thing. Blacks always were very pretty. Like your mum,' she went on, looking at him fondly. 'My mum says Narcissa always was the prettiest of the lot.'

Draco smiled faintly but did not answer. She was right, of course; he'd seen pictures of his aunts, and met Bellatrix last year in person. His mother had made them all look rather unfortunate.

Someone thundered down the stairs just then, banging on the walls, pausing briefly at the door to hammer on it and shout, 'OY!' before galumphing down the rest of the stairs. Tonks perked.

'Ooh, that means dinner's ready,' she said happily. Pinching her nose, she turned back into her pink-and-spiky self. She hopped off the bed and looked at him, perhaps wondering why he didn't look so enthusiastic. 'Aren't you coming?'

'No,' he said. 'I'm not hungry.'

'You will be when you smell Molly's cooking,' she assured with a sympathetic look. 'Oh, don't look at me like that. They won't bite. Well, Remus might, but it's not a full moon so you needn't worry.' She winked at him and offered a hand up. 'Come on.'

'No, really,' he said, shaking his head. 'I'm not hungry.'

She pursed her lips and sat back down on the edge of the bed beside him. 'Come for company? It's not good for you, hanging around this dark room all day.' When Draco didn't answer, she followed it up with a pout for good measure. 'Pleeeease? I can't be the only drunk one at the table, it'll be horribly embarrassing.'

'I'm not drunk,' he said truthfully, but sighed. 'I'll—in a bit. Not just yet.'

She gave him a suspicious look. 'You _promise_?'

He rolled his eyes. 'Yes, I promise.'

'Yay,' she sing-songed in celebration. 'I'm glad I finally got to meet you; you're not so bad. You look good in those jeans, by the way, so you may keep them.' She stood up and swayed, but miraculously stayed on her feet. 'Oh, also, there's a very nasty drape in the master bedroom that keeps trying to strangle me and Remus in the middle of the night. You think you could, you know,' she waved her hand a bit, 'do that whole pure-blood business sometime and make it behave?'

'Sure,' he said. She was halfway to the door when he fully realised what she'd said, and he blurted, 'Wait—you two share a _room_?'

She turned around at the door and blinked at him. 'Of course we... ooh, you don't know, I totally forgot. Remus and I are, ah... well.' She beamed at him and blushed. 'I'm in love with him, basically.'

He gaped at her. 'But he—he's a _werewolf_!'

'Well-spotted,' she congratulated him. 'Now don't forget you promised to come down, or I _will _come back up here and get you. And if you make me climb those stairs again, I shall bring strapping young Weasleys with me, whom I've been assured would be more than happy to tie you up and drag you down by force.'

She smirked at the slightly dazed expression on his face. 'You're not the only Slytherin in _this _house, Draco Malfoy.'

And then she flounced out the door, leaving Draco gaping in her wake.

- - -

Draco got halfway down the stairs to the kitchen before he changed his mind about going to dinner.

The room was alive with noise. It sounded as if there were dozens of people inside; many of the voices were familiar. Potter's voice was the easiest to pick out, curt and inelegant, followed by the loud, vulgar tone of his Weasley boyfriend, underneath both of which there was the occasional snippy comment from Granger.

Tonks' friendly and slightly slurred voice faded in and out, and usually ended in giggling. But it was the startlingly loud and identical cackles of the Weasley twins that actually halted him on the steps, and he suddenly realised what he was walking into.

Enemy territory. Certain Doom. The Lion's Den—quite literally, in this case, as they were _all Gryffindors_. Half with red hair and freckles and had fathers that had _attacked his father in public bloody bookshop_.

In this brief, frozen moment of terror, he caught some of the conversation. His Inner Slytherin kicked in immediately and, terror be damned, bade him to stay and eavesdrop.

'Cannons'll cream 'em,' Weasley was saying loudly. 'Seriously, Allen's too good.'

_God, Weasley,_ Draco thought, rolling his eyes. _You are a besotted idiot with an orange fixation._

He sat down on the step by the threshold and managed to get an angle that allowed him to peer in without much chance of being noticed, and could see that Potter was shaking his head. 'Allen's not better than Lynch,' Potter told him. 'He mightn't be able to top Krum, but he's still a damn good Seeker. Do you even _remember _the Cup? There's no way the Cannons' Beaters will keep up with Ireland's Chasers.'

Draco thought, _Weasly, listen to the speccy git. He knows what he's on about._

Then he realised that that meant he was admitting Potter had some intelligence, and scowled and hoped that the Cannons creamed Ireland this summer.

'So,' Granger said, cutting through the now-heated argument about whether the Cannons' pair were up to the challenge of Bludgering Ireland's trio, 'where's Malfoy? He's not still locked upstairs, is he?'

'Locked?' Tonks said, looking at Potter while spooning peas onto her plate. 'You didn't lock him in, did you?' She spilt peas all over her lap.

'Er, what?' Potter said, eloquent as ever, before catching up with the conversation. 'Um. No, I didn't.'

'Who cares?' interrupted Weasley through a mouthful of potatoes. 'Let him stay up there. I like him better when I can't see him.'

_Feeling's mutual_, Draco added bitterly.

'You mean he's been up there for three days without food?' Granger asked, and Draco was horrified to note she actually sounded concerned.

'I brought him some lunch today,' said the person at the bench. Draco focused on the familiar voice and saw who he supposed must have been Weasley's mother; he'd only seen her twice, once when he was twelve and again on a newspaper cover, but if he had any doubts, they were washed away by her red hair. 'When I went and got the tray he'd eaten a little. I do hope he comes down, though, he's a growing boy. Needs more than tea and apples...'

'He'll be down,' Tonks assured her. 'Promised me he would. Or I _will _go and drag him down. By his ears,' she added, and promptly knocked over her pumpkin juice.

'Ooh, can we come?' one of the twins asked, entering the conversation.

'We've got rope,' the other offered.

'And we're good at grabbing ears, too,' added the first.

'Mum's given us lots of practice.'

Weasley snorted over his plate. Granger and Potter both exchanged looks and Granger frowned slightly, and it felt like an ice cube had slipped down Draco's throat into his stomach. Potter'd told her, then. Of course he had, why wouldn't he? It was probably the highlight of his year, just like the bathroom incident.

'You lot lay off,' Tonks admonished. 'He's had a rough few days. And he's really not so bad to talk to.'

Potter frowned along with Granger. 'You don't know him like we do.'

Tonks raised her eyebrows. 'Maybe that's_ why _we got along.'

'Tonks is right,' Granger said suddenly, sitting up. 'I mean, he's a right prat, but we don't really _know _him. And he still did the right thing in the end.'

'Oh, is that right?' one of the twins growled.

'You want to tell that to Bill?' said the other. All the laughter had vanished from their voices.

'Bill doesn't blame him,' Mrs Weasley pointed out. Draco wished he knew who this Bill person was, and more specifically what he had supposedly done to him. 'And the rest of you shouldn't, either. I know he's not a very nice boy, but...' she sighed slightly, and looked fondly at Granger. 'Hermione's quite right, he did do the right thing, and you lot need to remember that.'

'I remember Bill,' one of the twins said fiercely. Ron and the other looked in agreement, and Potter's frown become even more pronounced.

'Well I won't have you picking fights at my table,' Mrs Weasley said firmly. 'So mind your tongue around him, or you can cook yourselves dinner.'

'Yes, _mum_,' they chorused, but looked as if they planned to do nothing of the sort.

'And anyway,' Mrs Weasley went on, turning back to the stove. 'He's lost his mum, the poor dear.'

'Oh, right,' Weasley said, 'like he'd give a damn if anything happened to _you_.'

'_Ron—_' Granger began.

'Oh, give it a rest, Hermione,' he interrupted. 'I'm tired of all this "pitying Malfoy" crap. He's just a prat. Always was, always will be. The only reason he didn't kill Dumbledore is because he's a bloody coward. Probably didn't even blink when he heard about his mum—'

'_Leave it_, Ron,' Potter snapped. 'You don't know what your talking about.'

Weasley looked rather shocked and offended. Draco would have laughed had he not been horrified that Potter was about to tell them all that he'd been weeping on his shoulder like a toddler over his mother's death two nights ago. If he hadn't already.

'Sorry,' Weasley muttered when Potter did not elaborate.

'Don't talk rubbish, Ron. You know Malfoy loved his mum,' Granger piped in. 'He always was really defensive about her. I mean, he's been really horrible, but... I don't think he would have used it as a weapon if anything happened to one of our mums.'

Draco normally would have been beside himself if someone claimed such a thing; of course he would have used information like that as a weapon! It would be the ultimate way to hurt someone, something like that. Especially in the Weasley's case.

Only now, Draco didn't think it was so funny anymore.

'Hermione's got it right,' Mrs Weasley said approvingly, then turned a hard gaze towards her sons. 'I want you to at _least _make an effort with him.'

_Oh no_, Draco thought. He had not sunk so low as to need pity from Weasleys. He decided he'd heard quite enough to make his decision about dinner, no matter how good the food smelt and how loudly his stomach as complaining; he stood up and turned to leave, and walked right into the biological equivalent of a wall.

It was easy to forget that under the tatty robes there was the steel body of a werewolf. This man did not need any more calcium, Draco decided. He felt quite dazed.

'Hullo again,' Lupin said, peering at him and raising an eyebrow. 'Done already?'

Scowling with his arms crossed over his chest, Draco was unceremoniously marched into the kitchen with Lupin at his back. All conversation immediately hushed and three pairs of identical blue eyes framed by freckles fixed on him like hungry lions.

'Hello, dear,' Mrs Weasley said, smiling at him. 'Come and have something to eat, you must be starved.'

Her sons quietly snarled at him, as if daring him to make a remark about their mother or her cooking that could be in anyway taken as offensive. Draco crushed the urge to recoil; it would have been pointless, anyway, with Lupin's hand on his shoulder. He was trapped between Weasleys and a werewolf. This was it: he was going to _die_.

'Have a seat, Draco,' Lupin encouraged him.

Draco looked at the table, which suddenly looked much too small when inhabited by Weasleys and their kind. There were two open seats: one between the twins that he was _sure _hadn't been between them before he was marched in the room, and one beside Tonks. But on the other side of that chair was Granger.

Between the identical madmen with intent to kill, or next to the Mudblood that was feeling sorry for him. Life was so very cruel and unfair.

'I'm really not hungry,' he offered to Lupin. 'Really. I'm actually—quite knackered. It was the Firewhisky. Blame your nymphet. I think I'll go have a kip.'

The edge of Lupin's mouth twitched, but he gave Draco a good push towards the table. Draco considered the conversation he overheard before he came in, and decided that Granger feeling sorry for him was a more comforting thought than the twins' apparent fixation with seeing his blood, and edged to the seat between her and Tonks. He stood there for a moment, hovering, wondering if he could make a break for the door, but Tonks seized him by the sleeve and pulled him down into the seat.

'Don't worry,' she said, slinging an arm around his shoulder and leaning over as three pairs of blue eyes homed in on him. 'I'll protect you.'

Considering that Tonks was rather small and thin compared to the three tall and burly Quidditch players—two of which were quite talented at yielding large bats—Draco, surprisingly, did not feel all that comforted. Instead, he felt his best chance for survival at the moment would be to clamp his mouth shut and stare at his empty plate, which Tonks began to laden with food when he made no move to do so.

Clamping his mouth shut was very unproductive when he was expected to eat, he soon found out. If he thought he'd sated his hunger earlier on two apples and a pot of tea, he had been sorely mistaken. It did not help his mouth-clamping resolve that the Weasley Mother seemed to be exceptionally talented in the catering department.

'Eat,' Tonks said encouragingly, through a mouthful of what appeared to be potatoes and peas. 'S'gooood.'

'It really is,' Granger offered from the other side of him, in a tone that was _much _too placating.

'Don't you dare talk to me,' Draco snapped automatically. It took considerable effort not to tack 'Mudblood' on the end, but he knew doing so would have earned him at least four black eyes.

Even still, the chatter at the table faded into a murmur at his words, and Draco instantly regretted not just silently ignoring her. Potter, straight across the table, was glaring at him through his glasses.

Weasley narrowed his eyes. 'Don't _you_ dare talk to her like that,' he said.

Draco met his gaze and smirked. 'Or _what_?'

'Boys,' Mrs Weasley said serenely, reminding them at there were Adults Present and murder would not be tolerated at her dinner table. She focused her gaze on Draco and said, 'Eat, darling. You need to.'

'S'gooood,' Tonks reminded Draco, practically purring into his ear. 'Molly's potatoes are better than _sex_.'

Lupin, sitting between the twins and eyes on his plate, coughed quietly.

The twins broke into identical grins and Tonks quickly amended, 'Well. Better than sex with _most_.'

'This conversation needs to end now,' Weasley pleaded.

'I agree,' chimed Lupin.

'Eat up,' Tonks said to Draco, thumping him encouragingly on the back and grinning like an insane person.

Potter was smirking down at his food, Granger was giggling like an idiot, and the twins were winking suggestively at Lupin. For a blissful moment, the table seemed to forget that Draco existed. He considered eating his food. He even picked up his fork and twirled it experimentally a few times. His stomach cheered him on.

Then, Weasley said, 'So, uh. Malfoy. We heard about your mum.'

The table seemed to still as one. Only Draco's eyes moved, flickering up from contemplating his plate, and he desperately wished looks possessed the ability to kill. Weasley flushed slightly and swallowed, but was still very much alive.

Ah well, he'd given it his all.

Weasley shifted uncomfortably in the sudden tenseness he'd created. He did not seem able to hold Draco's Avada Kedavra glare and wisely decided to ogle his peas instead. 'I mean—I was just going to—I'm sorry,' he finished lamely. 'I mean, it's. Really horrible and all.'

Mrs Weasley positively beamed at him—which of course had been what he was going for. Potter, on the other hand, was shooting furtive looks between the two of them, as if expecting one of them to leap over the table. Draco was seriously considering indulging him.

Mrs Weasley made a noise in her throat, eyeing the twins. They glowered at her.

'Yeah,' muttered one. 'S'terrible.'

The other murmured something that sounded vaguely like 'condolences' and Draco wanted to kill somebody.

He remained absolutely still and kept his eyes fixed on Weasley, who still wouldn't look at him. He slowly put down his fork and sat back in his seat, tilting his head to the side and folding his arms.

'You all seem to be under the impression that I desire your sympathy,' he said slowly. 'Let me assure you, I require nothing of the sort.'

Mrs Weasley's face fell; Lupin and Potter both looked up at him as one, and Tonks shifted uncomfortably beside him.

He went on: '_Some _of you are suffering from the delusion that I did not strike down your dear shining Headmaster out of compassion. _Some_ of you,' his eyes flickered to the twins, then back to Weasley, 'claim I did not succeed out of cowardice. Frankly, I don't care what you think. My reasons are my own. But let me make one thing perfectly clear.'

He paused briefly, then continued, 'If I had known that lying sonofabitch did not have the capacity to keep his promises, I would have killed him without a second thought. If I could do it all over again, I _would_. Because none of you, least of all that old fool, have ever been keen to protect anyone except your own. I do not need you, or your help, and least of all your fucking pity. So do me a favour and quit the act.'

A long silence followed his words. Draco didn't take his eyes off Weasley, who was now glaring at him. The twins looked furious, and Lupin looked very tired and serious, but it was Potter who spoke first.

'You know what, Malfoy,' he said, sitting back himself. 'That's awful rich, coming from you. We're just keen to protect our own, is that so? Then what the fuck are _you_ doing here?'

Draco was prepared to combat this, but Potter stood up and cut him off. 'No, you shut up and listen, and you bloody listen good. You mightn't had the bollocks to kill Dumbledore, but you still let Death Eaters into the school. Do you remember what you told Dumbledore on the tower? That you stepped over someone on the way up? Do you want to know who that was, Malfoy?'

'Harry—' Lupin began.

'No!' Potter shouted, standing up. 'He doesn't want pity?' He turned his gaze back to Draco. 'Good. You don't deserve it. That body you stepped over was Bill Weasley. Ron's oldest brother.' Potter's hands were shaking so badly he had to ball them into fists and brace them on the table top as he spoke. 'He was going to get married in a few weeks, did you know that? And thanks to _you_, he has to wait, because your buddy Greyback thought it'd be amusing to tear into him even though it wasn't a full moon. And now the wounds aren't healing right. He won't ever be the same again, all thanks to _you_.'

Then Potter stopped and waited, and Draco realised everyone was watching him, and then realised they were waiting for him to say—what? How could he have—he didn't even... 'I didn't know Greyback would be there,' Draco said finally, voice oddly small. 'I had no idea.'

'Just like you had no idea that Katie Bell would touch that necklace,' Potter spat, eyes furious and hard. 'Just like you had no idea that Ron would drink the poison instead of Dumbledore. Just like you don't know that if I hadn't given everyone the rest of my Felix potion that night, that they'd all probably be dead. And in spite of all that, Dumbledore _still _offers you sanctuary, the Order is still trying to protect you. Even in spite of you nearly killing her son, Mrs Weasley is cooking your _fucking dinner,_ and you—'

'I didn't know he'd be there!' Draco shouted back, standing and blindly furious. 'You think I'd have let that—that_ thing _into Hogwarts? My friends were there, too, Potter!'

'Oh, so _what_?' Potter returned viciously. 'If you'd known Greyback was coming along, would have told Voldemort _no? _Don't even fucking pretend like you give a damn what happened to anyone else except _you _and_ your _stupid family, Malfoy! As long as _your _mum was safe, anybody else could—'

Draco had gone for his wand, but Tonks anticipated as much, grabbing his elbow; being an Auror paid off, because she was much stronger than he was. Lupin had already stood up and moved towards Potter, who pulled out his own wand, but it was a voice at the door that halted them all.

'That's quite enough, Harry,' Dumbledore said, stepping into the kitchen. 'I think you've made your point to Mr Malfoy.'

- - -


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

_Just when every thing's in order and good, things fall apart  
Just when life should be resolving, you're back at the beginning  
And it comes back to the heart_  
- Cyndi Lauper 

Potter was still gripping his wand and Tonks still had Draco by the elbows when Snape stepped out of Dumbledore's shadow. He was glaring murderously at Potter.

'Molly,' Dumbledore said lightly. 'Bill has been transferred to St Mungo's.'

'Are Ginny and Charlie still with him?' Mrs Weasley inquired.

Dumbledore nodded. 'Alastor, Arthur, and Miss Delacour as well. I imagine they'll be back as soon as Bill's been settled in.' His gaze floated over the table. 'I'm sorry to interrupt, but I require to speak to Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy alone. I must ask the rest of you to have an early night.'

Granger, Lupin, Tonks, Weasley and the twins all began moving immediately while Molly quickly began gathering extra food into bowls with her wand. Weasley and Granger both paused at the door, looking back at Potter, but eventually followed the others out. Draco and Potter both still had their wands out, but had lowered them at the appearance of the Headmaster, settling for glaring coldly at one another.

Mrs Weasley was bustling past when Draco suddenly had a thought, and reacted before he could think better of it.

'Mrs Weasley.'

She stopped, looking surprised. 'Yes, dear?'

'I,' Draco started, thrown off by the narrowed stare Potter had fixed him with. Draco looked away from him and at Mrs Weasley instead. 'I really had no idea. I'm—'

'It's all right, dear,' Mrs Weasley assured, interrupting him. 'I know. But we don't blame you.'

Draco stared at her. He could not understand, for the life of him, why she wouldn't. If his situation had been reversed, his mother would have _killed_ the one responsible. '_Why?'_

Much to his chagrin, she smiled faintly at him. 'Because there's only one person to blame for all of this, dear. And it isn't you.'

She left, leaving Draco feeling extremely hollow.

Potter was still glaring at him, but more bewildered than murderous. Dumbledore bade her goodnight before addressing the boys. 'Molly is quite right,' said the Headmaster. 'But now that I have you both here, I need to—'

'I don't give a damn what you need,' Draco snarled, and both Snape and Dumbledore looked at him. Draco was gripping his wand so tightly his hand was trembling. 'I don't care what you want, or what you have to say.'

Dumbledore sighed. 'I am truly sorry about your mother, Mr Malfoy. Be assured we did everything we could.'

'You're a liar,' he hissed through his teeth. His throat felt very tight all of a sudden.

'He isn't a liar!' Potter snapped.

'Harry, please,' Dumbledore said, before turning his attention back to Draco. 'No, Mr Malfoy is quite right, I'm afraid. I should not have made a promise I was unable to keep. For that, I could only ask if you can forgive an old man's mistake.'

Draco's teeth were trembling against one another so hard it hurt. 'Never,' he hissed. 'I will never forgive you for that.'

Potter opened his mouth again but Dumbledore quieted him with a raised hand. 'I do not blame you,' Dumbledore said, sounding sincere. 'Your mother's loss was extremely unfortunate. And it is part of the reason I have come here tonight. But first...'

He paused, looking briefly sideways at Severus, who pressed his thin lips together until they were as white as the rest of him. Dumbledore must have interpreted this as permission to continue. 'There is something very serious both of you need to know, and I need your word that it will not leave this room.'

Immediately, Potter said, 'You have my word.'

In the silence that followed, Snape's eyes fixed on Draco. Dumbledore did not look at him, but said, 'It would be in both your best interests to know, but if you find yourself unable to keep the information in confidence, I must ask you to leave.'

Well, sod that, Draco thought bitterly. As a Malfoy he may have been bred with a large amount of pride, but as a Slytherin he was engineered with an even larger amount of curiosity. His pride really never had a chance. 'I'll keep it to myself,' was all he offered.

This seemed to satisfy the old wizard. 'I did reveal to you both, three nights ago, that I had been aware of Mr Malfoy's reckless attempts all year to bring about my demise; yet, with his best interests in mind, I did nothing to interfere. And although I also knew Mr Malfoy planned to grant access to Death Eaters into Hogwarts, I did not know _how_. And despite his best efforts, Professor Snape was unable to persuade Mr Malfoy from sharing his plans.'

At those words, Draco felt an involuntary, vicious sort of smugness.

Dumbledore continued: 'When Professor Snape first informed me that Voldemort—' (Both Draco and Snape winced at the Dark Lord's name.) '—had summoned young Mr Malfoy, I took certain precautionary measures. Had Mr Malfoy decided to delegate control of the situation to me a moment too late, I daresay I would probably not be here having this conversation with you.' He paused and Snape tensed, as if dreading the worst. 'Had that occurred, I must confess that Professor Snape had very specific orders from me to carry out the deed in place of Mr Malfoy.'

There was a moment's silence as this information sunk in, and then both Draco and Potter shouted _'What?'_at the same time, but with vastly different degrees of disbelief and indignation. Potter looked quite like he wanted nothing better than to murder Snape on the spot. Draco just gaped at him.

'Harry, please,' Dumbledore said patiently, anticipating an outburst. 'I understand you find this hard to believe, but have my assurances that Professor Snape was acting on my orders—'

'Bollocks he was!' Potter shouted back. 'I heard him talking to Malfoy—over Christmas—his mother made Snape take an Unbreakable Vo—'

'I am well aware of that,' Dumbledore interrupted. Snape narrowed his eyes, clearly furious that Potter had snooped in on their talk at the Christmas party. 'One of the first things Severus assured me was that, without a shred of a doubt, Narcissa would seek out help in protecting her only child. With Lucius in prison, he suspected she would immediately come to him. He was, unsurprisingly, quite correct. I asked him to make whatever promises he felt he could keep, even if it included the worst, as long as it was in the best interests of her son.'

'Sure you did,' Draco spat, rolling his eyes. 'You expect me to believe that? You, offering your life in place of a possible Death Eater's? Please.'

Dumbledore turned his gaze to Draco, eyebrows raised. 'I think it's quite safe to say, Mr Malfoy, that by your actions that night, you proved me quite right in believing your life one worthy of being spared.'

Draco did not know what to say to this, so he just clamped his jaw shut. His throat very tight again.

'Which brings me to the other reason I came here tonight,' Dumbledore continued. 'While the other students were promptly returned home after the incident, there is still much that needs to be righted at Hogwarts before it is fit to be safely occupied again. Most importantly, the Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Requirement, which none of us are able to access except Mr Malfoy. Order members were sent to Borgin and Burkes to investigate it's significant other but, unsurprisingly, it has vanished and Mr Borgin conveniently does not remember ever being in possession of such an artefact.'

Dumbledore paused again. He seemed to be waiting for a reaction, and Draco was too entirely frustrated at the world to keep his silence out of pure spite. 'So what? They probably took it to the Manor when I told them it was finished. You don't expect a bunch of wanted Death Eaters to walk out in public, even in Knockturn Alley.'

'I suspected as much, but if the matching Cabinet was indeed at your home, it has been since removed.' Dumbledore adjusted his glasses and focused entirely on Draco. 'And because of this, Hogwarts is still currently accessible to whomever holds the other Cabinet. Which is why I require your services, Mr Malfoy, in opening the Room of Requirement so we may destroy the other link.'

Draco narrowed his eyes. 'Why are you telling me all of this?'

'As I said before, I regret my inability to keep all of my promises; I consider it only fair that you understand the full details of the situation of which you were so thoroughly involved with.'

'Sorry,' Draco sneered, '_all _of your promises?'

'You are alive, are you not?' Snape demanded, stepping forward. 'The Headmaster promised you and your family sanctuary; he has kept part of the deal.'

Draco folded his arms and looked away. He wanted to do nothing for the old wizard, no matter what Snape said; truth be told, now he truly _did_ want to kill him—if only he'd known that night, what was to come... 'And if I don't?'

Snape answered for Dumbledore again. 'Then I daresay you will leave me with no choice but to expel you from the institution, Mr Malfoy.'

'What?' he and Potter chorused again. Draco kept talking: 'What the hell do you mean, _expel _me?' Surely, he'd already been banned from Hogwarts foreve—

'Just what I said, Mr Malfoy.' Snape's lips adopted a smirk. 'The Headmaster and myself hardly wish to deprive you of the rest of your education, much less safe sanctuary from the Dark Lord. However, if you refuse to cooperate—'

'You can't honestly be thinking of letting him back at school!' Potter demanded, pointing an accusing finger at Draco. 'He let Death Eaters into Hogwarts! He nearly got us all—and he's a bloody—_he's got the Dark Mark!'_

'So does Professor Snape, Harry,' Dumbledore said mildly. 'And think of him what you may, I trust the man with my life—as well as my death. It would be unfair not to offer young Mr Malfoy a similar accord.' His gaze turned back to Draco. 'Well, Mr Malfoy?'

Draco opened his mouth and closed it again. Snape was giving him a very hard stare, and Potter looked shocked and indignant and furious all at once; obviously, the idea that Draco had any chance at continuing to attend Hogwarts had not entered his mind. Despite it being obviously what Dumbledore wanted, Draco was trying to think of an alternative option, and could not—and just the simple knowledge that this infuriated Potter made it that much more appealing.

'Yeah, all right,' Draco said shrugging. 'I'll open it for you.'

'Excellent,' Dumbledore said, looking pleased and immediately making Draco regret his decision. 'But it is already late, so I shall call on you tomorrow afternoon and travel with you to Hogwarts. In the meantime, I suggest you get some rest. Professor Snape, if you'd escort Mr Malfoy upstairs; I wish to speak with Harry for a moment.'

'Certainly, Headmaster,' Snape replied icily. 'Draco.'

Scowling, Draco shot Potter one more nasty look before allowing himself to be led up the stairs. Once in the hall and alone, he turned to Snape. 'Is it true?'

'Is what true, Mr Malfoy?'

'_Stop calling me that_,' Draco hissed. 'You know what I mean. My father. Is it—did he—'

Snape looked extremely grave; it seemed he was able to sense the constricting of Draco's throat, and did not require him to finish. 'I'm afraid so, Draco.'

And Snape left him standing there in the hall, staring at the wall, exiting the house so quietly that Draco did not realise he'd opened the door until he'd closed it.

- - -

Draco was _not_ crying again.

No, he'd promised himself he wouldn't. He wasn't this weak. These were tears of rage, pure frustration and hate—it wasn't the same thing as weeping. It wasn't.

He lay in his bed, curled in a fetal position atop the duvet, sweating and blanketed in cold fury. He may have failed to kill Dumbledore, but this time it would be different. This time, he wanted to kill. This time, he would not fail.

The door to his room creaked. Draco opened his eyes, and saw a dark figure standing in the doorway. After a moment, Potter came in and closed the door behind him, making his way into the room.

'What do you want, Potter?'

Potter halted mid-stride, tensing. 'I want to go to sleep,' he said stiffly. 'Is that a problem?'

'Why are you going to sleep in here?'

'Because this is _my room_,' Potter spat back. 'We went over this, remember?'

Draco sat up, holding himself up with his hands propped on the mattress behind him. 'Then where the hell am _I_ supposed to sleep?'

'I really don't give a damn, Malfoy,' Potter said, sounding tired. 'There _are _two beds in this room.'

'What about the other rooms?'

'Ginny and Hermione are splitting a room downstairs, Ron and Charlie are across the hall, and the twins are upstairs.' Potter paused, folding his arms. 'Would you prefer to share with one of the Weasleys? I'm sure Fred or George would be _thrilled _to split a room with you.'

Draco bared his teeth, preparing to hurl a nasty comment about Weasleys and their plebeian lives, before the details of the sleeping arrangements halted him. 'So where have you been sleeping the past three days?'

Potter glared coldly at him. 'On the couch,' he said shortly.

'... Oh,' said Draco.

'Anyway,' Potter said, turning away from him. 'I'm bloody knackered, so you can leave if you want. Don't feel the need to ask.'

Draco watched with hooded eyes as Potter pulled off his jumper and jeans in the darkness on the other side of the room, then proceed to pull on a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and crawl into the other bed, collapsing in an unorganised heap. Draco wasn't so much _watching _as staring, really; his eyes were unfocused, blurring the jagged line of ebony spikes into the dark red of the pillow cover.

He wondered where he would be right now if he hadn't failed, or if he hadn't lowered his wand in time. He wondered what Dumbledore talked to Potter about in private. He wondered how Potter found it so easy to just crawl in the same room as him and just pass out without a worry.

He wondered why he cared.

- - -


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

_Hiding the tears in my eyes  
I just try to laugh about it  
Covering it all up with lies  
Because boys don't cry_  
- Cure

Draco was thoroughly miserable.

After Potter settled down and fell into a quiet slumber, Draco laid back in his bed and stared at the ceiling. There were a number of reasons he was unable to immediately fall asleep, including but not limited to the viscous, burning hatred and betrayal festering inside of his chest, more silent tears of sheer frustration at everything, and a pounding headache as a result of said tears.

There was also the simple fact of acknowledging that Potter had not only failed to vex Draco because of his emotional weaknesses, but even kipped on the sofa for a few nights to let him recover from it. It boggled Draco that instead of taking advantage of it, Potter'd slept on a couch in his own home so his worst enemy could recover.

Well, perhaps not his _worst_, but Draco was pretty sure he was up there.

It was a new and strange perturbation and Draco found himself tripped up on what was denoted by the act. He didn't know what to do with it, where to take it, or even if he had to do anything with it at all, and more importantly, he was unable to figure out why he couldn't just brush it off. Should he have acknowledged it? How did someone – especially someone like _him, _in this case – attest to something like that?

He didn't even know where to begin. Draco wasn't used to being grateful for anything, and the one person Draco never imagined he'd feel anything of the sort for was quietly curled up across the room from him, apparently asleep and unaware of the turmoil he'd caused.

A large knot kept forming in Draco's throat whenever he thought about it, and his headache had grown to epic proportions as a result. What little sleep he managed was fitful, at best. And if he had to go back to Hogwarts tomorrow, forced to reveal the secret he kept for a year and face up to it, it was promising to be just as miserable a day, too.

- - -

The first thing that registered in Draco's head upon waking was that the entire world was screaming and falling apart at the seams. He nearly had a panic attack.

A quick evaluation of the situation enlightened him that the sky was not, in fact, falling down upon London, and that earthquakes didn't normally involve loud, off-key singing. As it turned out, the shaking was due to Tonks bouncing on the edge of his mattress and the thunderous, badly-vocalised lyrics to _It's A Kind of Magic!_ were coming through the ceiling, presumably from the Weasley twins' room. Draco took a moment to pray silently to Merlin for _five more minutes_ because he would surely die if he sat up right now, and stuffed his face back in the pillow.

'Wake uuuuup, sleepy head,' Tonks sing-songed, ruffling his hair. 'Breakfast in twenty, and you want to use the loo before Ginny gets it. She takes _ages_.'

Draco growled incoherently and burrowed his head underneath the pillow.

'All right, but Molly says if you're not down for breakfast, she's sending the twins to get you.'

Draco groaned, slightly more coherent. What these people had in mind, getting up at the crack of dawn, he had no idea. He was quite fond of sleep. He was fairly sure it was quite fond of him, too. He and sleep got along well. They had a very stable, long-standing relationship. He planned to marry sleep someday, and they would live happily ever after in a king-sized bed with down pillows and a very warm, squishy duvet.

'_Up_,' Tonks admonished, forcibly dragging him out of his happy fantasy by taking away his pillow, which served as the only barrier he had between his face and the morning sunlight. The girl had been properly sorted, for sure; she was completely evil and unforgiving.

'I don't like you,' he informed her, grimacing.

'I don't like anybody before I've had a cuppa either,' she returned. 'Come _on_, you haven't eaten a decent meal in half a week.'

'M'not hungry.'

'Hungry or not, if you allow yourself to grow weak and frail, you _will _be picked off like a sickly animal in this house.'

Draco considered this. It was probably true. 'I'll be picked off anyway.'

'Not if I can help it,' Tonks said cheerfully. '_Up_. Merlin, you're worse than Harry. Get up!'

Well, Draco thought, he was already worse than Potter with enough that he did not need to add waking up to the List of Things Potter Did Better. Sighing heavily and rubbing his eyes with one hand, he struggled into a sitting position. Draco was somewhat surprised to find that he did not expire on the spot as expected, although he certainly decided that this is what it must feel like to be an Inferius, and was overcome with a huge surge of sympathy for the undead.

He squinted at Tonks, sitting on the edge of his bed. 'Okay,' he said. 'I'm up.'

'Do I look stupid?' she asked. He was tempted to be honest; anyone with bright pink hair looked fairly stupid, really. 'I'm not falling for that. I'll leave once you're up and walking and off to the loo.'

Like he'd said: completely evil and unforgiving.

Sighing in resignation, Draco paused briefly before hauling himself out of bed and to his feet, stretching, and his back made some muffled cracking noises.

Tonks winced. 'You're all knots, aren't you?' she remarked, frowning. 'Though I suppose you would be, what with the chaos that night and all. We'll have to sort you out later, though, I still need to go wake up the girls.'

She stood up and looked him over. He turned away, aware his eyes were still red and raw and his hair was an absolute disaster, he was just too tired to do anything about it. 'Are you all right, Draco? I mean, all things considering – you look – '

'I'm fine,' he said shortly, squinting at the sunlight pouring though the windowpane. 'Really.'

There was a telltale pause in which Draco could imagine her pursing her lips, much in the way his mother used to when she knew he was lying through his teeth. Finally, he heard Tonks sigh. 'All right, I'll take your word for it. But listen, if you need anything – I mean, I know the others aren't very fond of you, but they'll warm up. Just... give them some time.'

Draco wanted to tell her he didn't _want _them to warm up to him, and really couldn't care less if they all suddenly dropped off the edge of the world. That, in fact, he'd prefer it. Instead, he said, 'I'll be down in ten.'

He waited until he heard the door open and close before he allowed himself to turn around, and noticed a new pile of clothes by his bed. Sighing heavily, Draco miserably wondered when his world had been reduced to the charity of Muggle-lovers, and slowly started to change.

- - -

Life at number twelve, Grimmauld Place was about as far from Draco's norm as was remotely possible.

At home in the Manor, it was always _quiet_. Even when Draco had had his friends around, the volume was kept minimal by his mother casting Muting charms over the rooms they occupied. Father hated unnecessary noise. His family didn't even talk at mealtimes – meals were for eating, not chatting, Father'd always say. It'd taken Draco a year and half at school to break the habit, before he was comfortable talking all he pleased while at Hogwarts before his plate we clean.

Headquarters was alive with noise. The Weasley twins decided that the best way to wake everyone up would be by galumphing through the halls and down staircases, singing Weird Sisters songs at the top of their voices. Draco had barely opened the bedroom door before he decided that singing was not among the twins' talents. The portrait downstairs was screaming again.

'Oi, Harry!' one of the twins shouted gleefully, thrusting his head in the door before Draco had it open properly. He squinted at Draco. 'Oh, look Fred, it's our new pet _ferret_,' he sneered. 'Where's Harry?'

Draco sneered right back. 'Snuffing it, hopefully.'

'George, leave him,' said the other twin, tugging him back into the hall. 'Don't want mum starting this early. We can kill him later.'

'After breakfast?' the first inquired hopefully.

Draco watched them disappear down the stairs with a horrible sense of foreboding. He needed to get _out _of here.

It wasn't that the twins' threats actually troubled him. He still had his wand, and he could take care of himself well enough. It was just that he didn't _belong _here. The atmosphere was wrong – it upset his internal decorum, just being here with these people. Hogwarts was bad enough, but this place had made him more homesick in three days than school had managed in _six years_ and he felt... he actually felt _nauseous_. Physically sick right to his stomach. If he'd eaten properly in the past few days, he'd probably need to be sick into the toilet.

After a quick trip to the loo to make himself somewhat presentable, Draco slipped as quietly as he could down three sets of stairs into the basement kitchen, successfully avoiding any collisions. The kitchen itself was quiet aside from the clanking of pots; Mrs Weasley was the only one in the room.

'Fred!' she snapped without turning around as she heard Draco enter. 'I told you, ten minutes!'

She whirled around, sporting a flora apron and wooden spoon in hand. When she saw Draco, both her voice and expression softened immediately. 'Oh, good morning, dear. Here, have a seat, we'll give you an early start – that lot's like a pack of vultures in the morning and you've not had a proper meal in days.'

Draco didn't bother to argue. He slipped in the nearest chair as Mrs Weasley bustled around, waving wand and spoon, lowering a plate laden with food in front of him. It wasn't until he'd taken the first bite that Draco's body seemed to remember how very hungry it was, and he was halfway through his second helpings by the time the noise above migrated down the stairs, filling the kitchen with people.

There were two more people this morning than there were the previous night. She-Weasley gave him a scathing look as she took a set next to an older Weasley Draco didn't recognise – his appearance was similar to that of the twins, and was dressed in dragon hide trousers and a sleeveless shirt, displaying a large burn on one of his upper arms.

Tonks nearly fell over her chair before sitting in it properly, just beside Draco. 'Told you her potatoes were good,' she said, winking at him and stealing a bite off his plate.

By the time the rest had gotten their rations and sat down, Draco was finished, and about to quietly excuse himself when the older Weasley said to the table at large, 'So, the Healers at St Mungo's think Bill's going to be all right.'

Lupin, Potter, and all of the Weasleys looked up as one. Lupin in particular looked interested. 'That's good, Charlie,' he said. 'Do they have any idea what the side-effects will be?'

Charlie shrugged. 'He'll have the scars for life, but they're not nearly as bad as they were.' He smirked at Lupin. 'Apparently, one of the perks of being a werewolf is the ability to heal fast.'

'Indeed it is,' Lupin said mildly.

'Is that it?' Weasley demanded. 'Just the scars?'

'Well, no, they can't say for sure until he's had a few full moons,' Charlie admitted. 'They've had a few cases similar to his, where people've been attacked just before nightfall or after sunrise – probably also by Greyback – and so far none of them have become true werewolves.'

'They said they reckon the worst that'll happen is he'll get a little moody whenever the moon's waning,' She-Weasley added.

'So Fleur says they'll _both _have monthlies now,' Charlie finished, looking thoroughly amused. There was a moment's pause before most of the males at the table grimaced and the girls dissolved into giggles.

'That's disgusting,' Weasley said helpfully, pushing his plate away.

'Where are you going?' Tonks asked as Draco tried and failed to use this distraction to make a getaway.

Thinking quickly, Draco supplied, 'To go straighten out your homicidal drape, remember?'

'He shouldn't be going anywhere alone.' Draco froze and narrowed his eyes at the She-Weasley, and she narrowed her own right back. 'Who knows what he's doing.'

'Ginny!' Mrs Weasley admonished. 'Really, that's uncalled for. Professor Dumbledore – '

'So's what he did to Bill! I don't care what Dumbledore says!'

'You should,' Potter said quietly, eyes on his plate.

'Harry, you can't honestly _trust _the bastard!'

'Ginny!' Mrs Weasley exclaimed again, looking scandalised that her daughter even knew that word.

'No, I don't,' Potter said. He looked up at Draco, then back to Ginny. 'But he doesn't need a babysitter, either.'

'If you think I'm letting that slimy, two-faced git out of my sight – '

'I _am _right here!' Draco snapped, and everyone looked at him. His murderous gaze was still focused on Ginny.

'I'm well aware of that,' she snapped back, baring her teeth at him. 'And I don't care if your mother died, Malfoy, you're not getting any pity from me. It's your own fault she's dead, just as it's yours that Bill's the way he is – '

'Ginny – ' Lupin started to interrupt, but Draco talked right over him.

'I know, and I'm fucking sorry!' he shouted at her, all the frustration and anger and guilt inside of him suddenly bursting, pouring out and coating his words. Ginny recoiled as if he'd slapped her. 'And I don't want your pity! Or your sympathy or your fucking forgiveness! And I don't _want _to be here anymore than you want me to be, and if I had anywhere else to go, I'd be gone in a heartbeat, because you can all go to hell for all I care!'

On his way out of the kitchen, he heard Weasley remark behind him, 'Well _done_, Gin.'

Draco took care to slam the door at the top of the stairs with a lot more force than was necessary.

- - -

The murderous drape upstairs was easy enough for Draco to soothe. He'd simply dusted it off and told it to stop trying to strangle his cousin and her partner, mostly because they were the only defence he had against everyone else in the house – whom, on the other hand, were fine to choke if they got close enough. The drape had fluttered adoringly against him instead of attempting to wring his neck, which Draco'd interpreted as a positive response.

The master bedroom was enormous, nearly occupying the entire top floor, save for the second bathroom across the hall that the ghoul was occupying. The bedroom appeared even larger because it was so empty; there were no portraits or pictures or other decorations around the room, and the surfaces of the minimal amount of furniture were bare save for a few necessities. A wardrobe in one corner was ajar, and one of Tonks' brightly-coloured jumpers was dangling out, clashing against the otherwise drab colours of the room.

The far corner was what drew Draco's attention, however. Something long and large was covered with a canvas sheet, lumpy and uneven and boasting a fine layer of dust. He didn't recognise the shape. His curiosity roused, Draco wandered over to it and carefully peeled back the edge, wrinkling his nose against the unsettled dust as he pulled the canvas up and away.

Shielded from the dust, the chrome remained polished and gleamed against the morning sunlight pouring through the windows. Draco stared at the machine, transfixed by the light, the corner of the canvas still pinched between his fingers, upheld in mid-air. Surprise was an understatement, for a Muggle motorbike was about the last thing he'd have ever to expected to find in the old Black house.

'It was Sirius',' said a voice from the doorway.

Draco dropped the canvas like it'd burned him and wheeled around. Potter was leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, watching him with a slight tilt of his head. Draco stared at him. 'Sirius _Black's_?'

'D'you know any other Siriuses?' Potter asked, looking smug. 'He was my godfather.'

'I know,' Draco said. 'My father – ' And then he stopped, choking on the word. He snarled and looked away.

He heard Potter shift slightly. After a moment, Potter cleared his throat and said, 'Dumbledore sent an owl – he managed to clear his appointments early, so he'll be coming for us at noon.'

'_Us_?' Draco scowled. 'He only needs _me _to open it.'

'I left the same time you did, remember?' Potter asked. 'My trunk and things are all still there, too.'

Draco hadn't even thought of that – his robes, books, even his old broom – they were all still at Hogwarts. Come to think of it, they were probably the only possessions left he had to call his own.

This epiphany did nothing to help Draco's foul mood. He said nothing.

'And, um,' Potter continued in the silence, frowning slightly. 'Sorry about Ginny. She tends to get defensive – especially with Bill, he was her favourite brother.'

'I really don't care, Potter,' Draco snapped, looking back up at him. 'I still meant what I said.'

'Did you?' Potter asked, raising an eyebrow.

Draco narrowed his eyes. 'I don't want their pity. Or yours.'

Potter shrugged. 'That's not what – I mean, I figured you wouldn't,' he said quickly. 'But you meant the apology,' he inquired, looking curious.

Draco met his gaze evenly. 'I wouldn't of said it if I hadn't,' he said stiffly.

And Draco did mean it – he was angry that he hadn't just dealt with Dumbledore and kept his mother alive, but that did not mean he was proud of what happened as a result. He did not like the Weasleys, after all, but he knew Greyback. The werewolf had been a close friend of his father's. He remembered the visits Greyback used to make to the Manor when he was younger, and how his mother would shout at his father about it, and trail Draco from room to room, afraid that if she let her son out of her sight that he might end up alone in a room with the pedophilic beast. Father never seemed worried about it, and Draco had clung to his mother like a shield.

Greyback scared the living hell out of Draco. He'd seen what the monster did to people under the Dark Lord's new regime, and he wouldn't have wished that on anyone.

Not even a Weasley.

Potter just kept looking at him, and Draco wondered when the Gryffindor learned to keep his face impassive. Potter usually didn't disguise what he was feeling, even if it was the worst – Potter was reckless with his emotions like that, it's what made hurting him over six years so easy. But this time Potter just stared at him, eyes and face blank, and Draco would have given his broom to know what was going through Potter's head.

'_What_?' Draco snapped, unable to withstand the silence a moment longer.

Potter didn't look perturbed by the outburst. He just shrugged again. 'Nothing. I'm just surprised, is all.'

'About what?' Draco demanded.

'You.'

Potter was still staring at him with that blank, unrelenting gaze, and it was driving Draco insane. He hated being searched and analysed, as if he were some sort of poison that – if someone studied thoroughly enough – they could discover a cure for. Snape had been looking at him like that all year; Dumbledore had been looking at him for six years; his father had been looking at him like that his _entire life_.

And now Potter was looking at him like that, and Draco had never hated him more.

'By all means, Potter, enjoy your delusions about my reformation,' Draco sneered as he strode up to him. 'Go ahead, get your hopes up.' He smirked at the surprise that flickered over Potter's face as Draco stopped in front of him, lowered his voice and finished, 'So I have something to look forward to when I disappoint you.'

Draco shoved Potter out of the way with his shoulder, pushing him off the doorframe, and Draco retreated downstairs before the other boy could muster a response.

- - -

**Just one quick credit**: _A Kind of Magic_ is actually a song by Queen and, incidentally, the inspiration behind my domain name (http://its. Fred and George aren't singing the Queen song, though – just borrowed the title of the song because I'm not creative like that and I am a Freddie Mercury _whore_.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

_I think guilt and innocence  
are a matter of degree;  
What is justice to you  
might not be justice to me._  
- Ani DiFranco

While it was sunny and clear in London by the time Dumbledore showed up that afternoon with a Portkey, it was dreary and drizzling heavily in Scotland. Three horseless carriages were waiting for them when they arrived outside the gate to the grounds, parked between the two winged boars. A fair number of the Order had accompanied them, most of them trained Aurors; with the other Vanishing Cabinet still unaccounted for, while the other remained at Hogwarts there was still a risk of Death Eaters crashing the party and Dumbledore wasn't taking any chances.

Dumbledore instructed Potter and Draco to get under Potter's Invisibility Cloak immediately upon arrival, just in case. Potter obeyed immediately and Draco thought about making a nasty remark about how well trained Potter'd come, but he was distracted once again by how very close he was forced to stay to Potter when under the cloak. Potter and he were both as tall as many of the adults – taller than some – and squeezing them both under the cloak was no easy feat.

Every time the carriage hit a dip or lump in the road, Draco's thigh would bump against Potter's, knocking their knees and shoulders together. Potter said nothing and Draco, still seething from that morning, clamped his teeth shut and stared fixedly out the window. Kingsley Shacklebolt and some other Auror Draco didn't know sat across from them. Dumbledore sat on Harry's other side, humming quietly under his breath as the carriage jostled along up to the castle, pulling to a halt outside the stone staircase leading to the Entrance Hall.

Hogwarts sat before them like a barren and worn citadel. Scorch marks decorated the high stone walls, some with craters, some with rubble swept up against them, leaving a clear path in the middle for the party to walk through. There was no blood, though – no bodies, no evidence of who or what had passed through only a few nights ago. It had the aura of a forgotten battlefield where spirits lingered like chills, making everyone constantly look over their shoulders and massage their biceps with their hands to keep from shivering.

Draco felt like he was walking through a tomb.

Dumbledore made him and Potter stay underneath the cloak, 'Just in case', which was unfortunate, because Draco had frankly had quite enough close-contact with Potter in the last three days to last him three lifetimes. Draco wasn't even that tall, only half a head on Potter really, but even still they had to stoop as they walked, and their shoulders and elbows kept knocking together, much harder than was probably necessary. Both boys were wearing similar scowls to show just how much effort was going into the restraint not to snap at one another, once more under orders from the Headmaster to remain 'As invisible as humanly possible.'

McGonagall greeted them just inside the Entrance Hall with a severe look, flanked by more Order members. Draco sighed inwardly. He'd been hoping Snape would be here.

'Professor Dumbledore,' she said by way of greeting. Her eyes lingered on the space where Draco and Harry stood momentarily, and Draco tried without success to get an idea of what she was thinking.

The trip from the Entrance Hall to the main staircases of the castle was uneventful at first, an echo of quick footfalls and hushed breathing, tension hovering in the air around them. Just as the cold was beginning to get to Draco, a fiery pain stabbed at his arm, and Potter gave a sudden shout and collapsed.

Naturally, once Draco had thrown the cloak off them, everyone went to check on Potter first. He was kneeling on the floor and clutching his forehead with both hands, teeth grit and shoulders set, and spitting low, horrible hisses that chilled Draco to his core. Draco grit his own teeth and massaged his left forearm through the sleeve of his robes, not needing to look to know what had caused the pain.

Potter recoiled from the coddling, wincing and shaking his head, looking irate. 'I'm _fine_,' he insisted, his tone still hoarse and sibilant. McGonagall frowned and whispered something to Dumbledore, who shook his head. Draco was actually glad for Potter's melodramatic performance for once, because it seemed nobody had noticed the pain in his arm.

Then Moody limped over, grabbed his left wrist without warning, and yanked Draco forward.

'Ow, watch it!'

Moody may have looked ragged and broken, but his grip was like steel; he twisted Draco's wrist up and over, shoving up the sleeve with his other hand and exposing Draco's forearm. The mark there pulsed red once, twice, and then with a hiss it faded to black again like a hot coal doused with water.

Draco hissed through his teeth.

'He knows the boy's here,' Moody growled, holding tight as Draco tried to wrench his arm out of the man's grasp. Every eye was fixed on the mark, and it was causing Draco's stomach to turn.

'I expected as much,' Dumbledore said mildly. His eyes left Draco's forearm and went to his face, watching him. 'Keeping you at Headquarters the past few days has confused Voldemort, no doubt,' Dumbledore did not pause as Draco hissed through his teeth at the name, 'as I did expect he had... another way of keeping track of you, aside from that. And now that he has made the mistake of using it...'

Dumbledore raised his wand and Draco tensed. There were no words, but Draco could _feel_ the magic crawling over him, searching for a trace of any charm or spell on his person—and Dumbledore was quite right, of course, that as the tracking spell had been so recently used, it would be much easier to locate. With another wave of his wand, Dumbledore wordlessly removed it.

'Much better,' Dumbledore said approvingly. 'But now that he is all too aware of your location, we must make way with haste. If you would lead the way, Mr Malfoy...'

Draco glowered at Dumbledore, angry at being put on the spot so abruptly. His eyes swept the lot of them briefly; Potter was watching him as carefully as the rest, rubbing his forehead with his left hand, but looked more worried than suspicious. Draco sneered at him before turning away, and leading the party along a route that was so well-worn into his memory he could—and had—navigated it in the dark.

The majority waited at one end of the seventh-floor corridor, Dumbledore instructing Potter to stay back when he tried to follow the Headmaster, who was the only person accompanying Draco to the far end, where the hidden room was waiting. Dumbledore did not speak, but merely watched Draco silently and waited until Draco could not take his gaze anymore and began to pace, reciting the words in his head.

_I need a place where no one can find me. I need a place to keep it hidden from everyone._

_I need a place that's safe._

The Room of Hidden things appeared in the stone wall; a wide, old oak double-door with brass handles that Moody forced open with a strong shove. The doors slid open soundlessly, exposing a cavernous room with high cathedral windows, casting multi-coloured shadows on the maze of objects before them. Draco walked inside, Moody, Dumbledore and McGonagall following close behind him as he cut corners, leading them down one aisle and then the next, along a path well-forged into his memory.

He stopped after what felt like ages but had only taken about forty seconds to reach. McGonagall cast a lighting charm and the corner glowed under a soft, blue halo of light, directly underneath of which stood the largest object in the cluttered space.

The black-and-gold finish of the Vanishing Cabinet gleamed at them under the shimmering light. Its large, double-doors, slight curve and carved details were all-too familiar to Draco, who had learned the piece of furniture like one learned an instrument they played, memorising its size and contours as thoroughly as the rate of his own heartbeat under pressure.

'Quickly,' Dumbledore urged, and Moody and McGonagall moved into the light together, wands at the ready.

But the Cabinet stood there quiet and exanimate, looming over them all and casting a large shadow in the dusty blue glow. McGonagall looked at Dumbledore, who nodded. Both she and Moody uttered a spell together and two identical red jets of light shot forth from there wands, and Draco watched a year's worth of trial and desperation erupt in hot orange flames, fully incinerating in less than a minute.

Draco looked at the pitiful pile of ashes on the floor, exhaled sharply, turned away and walked out of the room without a word.

Potter was still down the far end of the hall, both his and Draco's school trunks at his feet, talking to Tonks and looking annoyed. Draco was too tired to even take pleasure in that, or to even toss him a sneer. He just wanted to _go home._

'Now that that's settled,' Dumbledore said quietly, rejoining the group with Moody and McGonagall at his side. His gaze turned to Draco. 'We must decide what to do with you, Mr Malfoy.'

Draco's defences went up immediately; so that'd been it, had it? Get him to open the door, let them in, then toss him to the authorities? Go bloody figure—no wonder Snape wasn't here, he was probably halfway to Azkaban—Draco should have listened to his mother; no human being bearing the Dark Mark would ever be shown leniency—

'Hogwarts is once again safe now that the Cabinet is destroyed, however,' Dumbledore continued, 'I cannot have the task of watching over you myself, no matter how preferable that would be... there is too much to be done before the new school year, and—'

'What about Snape?' Draco snapped, interrupting. 'Why can't I stay with him?'

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. 'Because Professor Snape is perhaps in more danger than yourself or even Mr Potter at the moment, Mr Malfoy, and I daresay he would not wish to place you in harm's way.'

Draco narrowed his eyes. 'What do you mean, he's in danger? He's a—'

'He _was_ a spy for the Order,' Dumbledore corrected. 'Unfortunately, Greyback's escape alerted Voldemort—' (Draco winced at the name.) '—to his true allegiance, and he must remain in hiding for the time being for his own protection.'

This did not please Draco at all. He couldn't stay at Hogwarts, he couldn't stay with Snape—he couldn't go home, of all places—where the hell was he supposed to go?

'We could set up another safehouse,' Kingsley suggested. 'Give him a different Secret Keeper, I could even get an official warrant for it easily enough—'

'But if the Ministry found out you were hiding a boy with the Dark Mark...' Tonks put in.

'There'd be hell to pay,' Moody agreed. 'I suppose we could always take our chances with an unsanctioned Charm...'

Kingsley shook his head. 'If they found out about that _and_ a boy with the Dark Mark, it'd be miles worse—'

'He can stay with me.'

Everyone stopped talking abruptly, and turned as one to look at Potter, who was holding his cloak in one hand and wand in the other.

Draco narrowed his eyes further. 'What?'

'He can stay with me,' Potter repeated, ignoring Draco's gaping stare. He was looking at Dumbledore instead. 'Headquarters is safe enough, we have just enough room for him, it's as safe a place as any.'

'This is true,' Dumbledore said thoughtfully in a manner that suggested he'd been expecting the suggestion all along. 'It is, of course, up to Mr Malfoy, if he would like to take you up on your generous offer of hospitality.'

His eyes twinkled and the edge of his mouth quirked, and Draco hated him all the more for being the manipulative sonofabitch that he was.

'I'd rather turn myself into _Him_,' Draco snarled, glaring at Potter, 'than spend one more minute with you.'

Potter raised his eyebrows, then shrugged. 'Suit yourself, Malfoy.'

'Draco,' Tonks hissed. 'Don't be an idiot.'

'Your mother died protecting you, boy,' Moody growled. 'Fine way to repay her, handing yourself in. But you've no argument from me.'

Draco glowered at them all, grinding his teeth together and hating the position they had put him in. Of course he'd rather put up with Potter than ever face the Dark Lord again—but he'd hardly admit it, much less accept _charity _from the bastard.

And then Draco remembered hearing Snape talking to his mother that summer, and the look on her face when Snape'd said, _'His pride will be the end of him.'_

Draco closed his eyes and sagged slightly, and Tonks put a hand on his shoulder to support him.

'Well?' Potter said. Draco opened his eyes, and saw that he was smirking.

'That's enough, Harry,' Tonks said, with such force that Potter blinked at her. 'You don't have to rub it in. He needs your help. We all do. Now that Draco's arrangements are settled, lets get the hell out of here, shall we?'

- - -

As the surplus of Weasleys were having an extended stay at Headquarters until Bill was well enough to leave St Mungo's (Charlie and the twins had apparently taken leave from work to do so), and that various members of the Order occupied rooms on a day-by-day basis, Draco was stuck sharing a room with Potter. _Better than the alternative_, Draco kept forcibly reminding himself as he was forced to change, sleep, wake and mingle with the prat diurnally. Ignoring him seemed to work well, and although Draco caught Potter watching him carefully from time to time, he seemed also seemed content to ignore Draco's presence, which suited Draco fine.

The pattern had just been becoming familiar, Draco had thought as he traded his robes for the pyjamas that were in his trunk that he'd picked up at Hogwarts three days ago, and then Potter went and fouled things up again.

It had to be three in morning, Draco thought briefly upon waking with a jolt, it was so pitch dark in the room. Then Draco's hearing caught up with his brain.

Potter was screaming.

Draco sat bolt upright, jarred and bewildered, staring at the opposite bed. He clawed around the bedside table for his wand, lighting it as he stumbled and tripped out of the covers and onto the floor. Potter was curled in a foetal position and facing the wall, so Draco couldn't see his face. But he was still yelling, incoherently with snippets of words Draco vaguely recognised, and Draco hissed at him to wake up, to _shut up_ before he woke the entire household, but Potter didn't seem to be aware of anything outside of whatever he was dreaming.

Gritting his teeth, frustrated and exhausted and approaching the end of his rope, Draco seized Potter's shoulder and yanked him into view. 'Wake the fuck up, Potter!'

Potter's eyes shot open, stared up at Draco for a split second, and then Draco suddenly found himself thrown up and backwards into the wall beside the window, Potter's hand at his throat. He was snarling violently, a long string of intelligible hisses pouring from his mouth without pausing for breath, green eyes wide and flashing in the feeble light of the wand Draco had dropped in surprise and was now lying useless on the floor beside him.

One word through those hisses melded just enough English that Draco could understand it, and chilled his blood as it slid over Potter's lips:_ 'Severus.' _

Draco's mouth went dry. Potter had released his throat and was now gripping Draco's arms just above his elbows, hard enough to bruise, holding him up against the wall without much effort. Draco knew he wasn't stronger than Potter – he'd always been on the skinny side, and last year had nearly left him physically sick he'd neglected himself so badly. But it still surprised him how incredibly _strong_ Potter was, holding him against the wall with a steel grip Draco wouldn't have the smallest hope of unhinging without the aid of his wand.

Almost as abruptly as it had began, the episode stopped. Potter stopped hissing, mouth still partially open, his wide eyes going from dangerous to confused so palpably that Draco watched the transformation with a horrified awe, still too terrified to move or speak lest Potter lash out again.

Potter stared at him a moment longer, his breathing coming in shallow breaths, blinked twice and let go of Draco, stepping back and away with a word. He looked around the room then, looking lost, then up at the blank portrait on the wall beside Draco's bed and ran to it, hammering his fist on it.

'What, what, _what_?' came an annoyed, groggy voice from the blank portrait.

'Dumbledore,' Potter said impatiently, voice hoarse and still wavering in and out of a hiss. 'I need to see Dumbledore. Now.'

'Now?' mumbled the voice, sounding like it was speaking through a yawn. 'It's not even dawn, can't it wait 'till morning...'

'No, it can't!' Potter snapped furiously. 'I need to see him _now_.'

'Temper, temper,' chided the portrait. 'So demanding, children these days, no respect for their elders either—'

The voice in the portrait stopped talking abruptly as Potter lashed out again, the harsh, sibilant tones of Parseltongue cutting through the cold air in the room like a tidal wave of whiplash.

There was a small pause from the portrait following the outburst. 'Right,' it said finally. 'Now it is, then.'

'Potter,' Draco said, as Potter stood glaring at the empty portrait as if to dare it to disobey him again. 'What was that all about?'

Potter looked at him, startled, as if he'd just realised there was someone else in the room. His green eyes narrowed, squinting, and Draco realised that Potter probably couldn't see him properly without his glasses. He didn't answer Draco; instead he stomped over to his own bed, grabbed his glasses and wand off the bedside table, and hastily pulled on a jumper he found on the floor.

Draco retrieved his own wand, moving away from Potter as quickly as he could. Potter didn't seem to notice, or even care that he'd woken up screaming and slammed Draco into a wall. Draco narrowed his eyes indignantly as Potter began to pace the area in front of his bed, frowning and rubbing his temples and completely ignoring Draco.

'Potter!' Potter stopped and looked up as Draco shouted, eyes murderous. 'What the fuck is going on?'

'Shut up,' Potter ordered curtly, looking back at the floor and resuming his pacing.

Draco curled his hands into fists. 'Why do you need to see Dumbledore?'

'None of your sodding business,' Potter said distractedly.

'What about Snape?' Draco snapped, undeterred.

Potter looked up at him again, frowning. He shook his head. 'Don't worry about it. Go back to sleep, Malfoy.'

'You expect me to go back to sleep after that episode?' Draco demanded incredulously. 'I want to know—'

'This may come as a surprise, Malfoy, but I don't give a shit what you want,' Potter said nastily. He sat on the edge of his bed, pulling on his trainers, and then stood and left the room without so much as a second glance at Draco.

Draco was not used to being ignored. Nobody got away with ignoring Draco, not even his own father.

At the thought of his father, Draco grit his teeth and scowled, following Potter out of the room.

He stopped at the top of the stairs when he heard hushed, urgent whispers below. Crouching above the top step, Draco pressed his ear between the bars of the banister and listened closely.

'Are you sure, Harry?' Dumbledore's voice, usually calm and serene, sounded shakier than Draco could ever remember hearing it.

'Yes,' Potter snapped impatiently. 'It was just like before, with Mr Weasley, only without the snake. But it felt the_ same_. It wasn't just a dream.'

There was a quiet pause. 'I trust your judgement, Harry,' Dumbledore said finally. 'I will investigate it. In the meantime, I need you to remain here.'

'Why? I'm not—I'm almost—'

'Harry,' Dumbledore said, the slightest hint of impatience coating his voice. 'Take care to remember the last time you followed your instincts on a similar matter. It would be quite foolish to put yourself in that position again.'

Potter fell quiet, uncharacteristically passive after such an order. After a pause, he said quietly, 'But I don't _care_ about Snape.'

'We will worry about deciphering the motive later,' Dumbledore said quietly. 'I will return as soon as I know anything.'

Draco heard the door open and close again. He leaned his forehead against the cool wood of the banister, turning their words over in his head.

- - -


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

_'You're like the A-bomb. Everyone's laughing and having a good time,  
and then you show up, and BOOM! Everybody's dead.'_  
- Master Shake, ATHF

Ten minutes after Dumbledore had left, Potter still hadn't come back upstairs. Draco stared down at the dark hallway, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, but couldn't see anything except a particularly ugly portrait of _Cassiopeia __Black_ with her head lolling to one side and snoring, and part of the dirty threadbare carpet below. Already irritated at being ignored as if he were a child and growing even more irritated that there was very little he could do about it, Draco stood up straight and made his way down the stairs, taking care to be quiet enough not to wake anything.

He found Potter just opposite of the portrait of Cassiopeia Black, back against the wall of the stairs facing the portrait. His shoulders were held taut, legs brought up to his chest, arms crossed and forehead down against his knees. Potter didn't look up as Draco came to stand in front of him, leaning his back against the wall under the portrait and sliding down to sit opposite of him, staring relentlessly at his mop of untidy black hair.

Draco knew the position. He'd spent his first three days here alternating between lying curled on the bed and sitting similarly to how Potter was now. He almost felt sorry for him; it was fortunate that Draco was not a very empathetic person.

'I don't suppose you'll be enlightening me to why you needed to see Dumbledore at three in the morning,' Draco said.

Potter looked up and Draco tried not to wince at the severity of his glare. 'I don't suppose you'll be enlightening me to everything you've learned about Voldemort, either,' he snapped back.

At the mention of the Dark Lord's name, Draco did wince. He kept his mouth shut.

Potter sneered. Draco was almost impressed with the viciousness of it. 'Thought so.'

Draco narrowed his eyes. 'I don't know anything important,' he said. Well, it was _sort_ of the truth. 'Certainly not anything of use to your lot.'

'Sorry if I don't believe you.'

'Sorry if I don't care,' Draco replied coolly. 'What – '

Draco never got to finish, as at the very moment there were several muffed _cracks_ that sounded as if they landed right outside the front door. Both boys looked up at it expectantly, and could hear hushed, fervent whispers on the other side before someone said '_Shh!_ D'you lot have any idea what time it is?' and the door slowly clicked open.

A large, jumbled shadow entered through the doorway, taking care to remain as quiet as possible. It wasn't very effective, as the hall wasn't very large and there had to be at least a dozen bodies trying to navigate in the dark.

Someone tripped over Draco's bent knee. He sighed and helped her off the floor. ''Lo,' he said.

Tonks muttered a curse and blinked at him. ''Lo,' she answered. 'What are you doing up? And on the floor in the dark, of all places? You could kill somebody.' She followed Draco's gaze to Potter, frowned, and pushed herself to her feet. 'You two should be in bed.'

Potter ignored her words. 'Well?' he asked, voice rising with every word. 'What's happened? Did you find him? Is he all right? Did Dumbledore – '

'_Shh_,' Tonks hissed at him. 'Later, Harry. I'm not the one to tell – you boys need to get off the floor, we need to get to the kitchen – '

As Draco started to stand, Potter followed, looking murderous.

'What do you mean, you're not – at least tell me if he's – '

'_Later_, Harry,' said a tired voice. Lupin had come up behind Tonks to see what the hold up was; the rest of the Order members were peering over his shoulder curiously, looking at Draco and Potter and whispering to one another. 'Please.'

Potter opened his mouth, closed it, and leaned back against the wall, letting the group pass through. Draco had to squeeze himself between_ Cassiopeia Black_ and her husband's snoring portraits to allow the people to pass, trying without success to catch useful bits of whispered conversation as they passed.

Potter glared coldly at the door to the basement as they disappeared behind it and closed it, sealing the sounds of their steps and voices with it. He looked just as furious at being ignored and pushed aside as Draco had felt earlier.

Potter turned his glare around to Draco. 'What are you still here for? Think if you hang around long enough you'll pick up something useful to bribe your way back in with _him_?'

'Actually,' Draco snapped, folding his arms. 'All I _want_ to know what the fuck is going on.'

'Well, like I said, I don't—'

'Give a damn what I want?' Draco finished for him. 'Yes, I remember. And the feeling is mutual, believe me. I_ do_ care, however, about anything that's happened to Professor Snape. And I also know that you calling Dumbledore here immediately after waking up from a nightmare, means that whatever it is isn't something to be taken lightly. So,' Potter blinked at him blankly as he paused for breath, 'I know you might not give a flying fuck what happens to him, Potter, but for once I'd really appreciate it if you remembered that the world does not revolve around only you and what _you_ care about.'

Potter continued to stare at him for a very long time, looking angry and slightly confused. Draco expected him to shout, wake up all the portraits, possibly resort to physical abuse – as Potter and his gang were wont to do – or at the very least, threaten him at wandpoint.

Draco was slightly surprised when Potter just blinked again, looking even more confused and surprisingly hesitant; the confusion wasn't surprising, but the hesitation was. Potter never hesitated – Draco had learned that lesson the hard way several months before.

'It wasn't a nightmare,' Potter said finally, hands curling tighter around his elbows.

'What?' Draco said.

'It wasn't a nightmare,' Potter repeated firmly, explaining absolutely nothing. 'All that – whatever you saw – it wasn't a dream I had.'

'What the hell was it, then? A secret, nocturnal Gryffindor ritual to wake up screaming bloody murder?'

Potter looked at the floor between them, two feet of dusty threadbare between their feet, worn and faded and looking horribly neglected. He furrowed his brow. 'It was – I get these – _visions_.'

Draco stared at him. It took all of his self-control not to burst out laughing simple by reflex at the utter absurdity of that statement.

'You get _visions_,' he repeated dully, trying very hard to keep his voice passive. Potter must be having him on. Draco cracked a nasty smirk. 'What are you now, The Chosen Seer? The Boy Who Saw?'

'Piss off,' Potter snapped angrily, looking up at him once more, eyes narrowed. 'Fuck, I don't even know why I'm bothering talking to you.'

'Oh come on,' Draco sneered, rolling his eyes. '_Visions_, Potter? Like god-delivered revelations, or a life-changing epiphany—'

'I'm not fucking joking, Malfoy. Do you want to know about Snape, or not?'

Draco stopped smirking.

'All right,' he said, playing along. 'You get "visions". Fine. The vaguest explanation you could have possibly supplied, but I'll buy it. Visions of _what_?'

Potter clamped his mouth shut and looked at the floor again.

Draco tilted his head. '_Well_?'

'You don't want to know.'

'_Try_ me.'

Potter looked up at him with steady eyes. 'I see what he sees,' he said finally, his voice quiet but thick. 'What he likes to _show_ me.'

Draco didn't have to ask who 'he' was. The hard, guttural emphasis Potter placed on the word was more than enough. 'And what does he like to show you?'

'Usually?' Potter smiled, almost wryly. The expression was quiet disturbing when mixed with his answer: 'Pain.'

Draco was tempted to make another comment about Potter's lack of vocabulary and his spectacular talent at being vague, but the look in those green eyes stopped Draco short. Then the full picture hit him, combining what he'd witnessed in the bedroom, the information obtained from Potter's conversation with Dumbledore, and the increasingly vague answers afterwards.

It really hadn't been a nightmare, but a 'vision', of some sort. Draco could believe that – Dumbledore had answered Potter's call with impressive haste, after all. And whatever the vision was about, Draco could be sure of one thing: it concerned Snape.

And it also involved pain.

Draco's throat tightened. Potter was watching him carefully, and seemed to notice Draco had put the information together.

There was a moment's pause as Draco deliberated his next question; Potter was normally unstable, easy to offend and quick to become defensive. How long he'd keep answering questions wasn't predictable, and Draco had to make each one count.

'Is he alive?' he asked evenly, holding Potter's gaze.

'I think so,' Potter said quickly, brow furrowing again. 'I mean, he was – when I – ' he faltered a bit lamely, and finished quietly, 'I hope so.'

Draco sneered automatically. 'Oh, _do_ you now?'

'Fuck you,' Potter snapped, glaring.

Draco winced inwardly. Potter was even easier to offend when sleep-deprived and on-edge, apparently. 'Don't pretend like you give a damn.'

'I'm not,' Potter replied coolly. 'I hate that sonofabitch more than I hate you.'

'Then why'd you rush to alert Dumbledore?'

Potter raised his eyebrows. 'Because I know that the world doesn't revolve around only me and those _I _care about, Malfoy.'

_Crack_.

The front door swung inward again, revealing a tall, robe-clad silhouette. Potter was on his feet in an instant. 'Is he—'

But when the shadow stepped forward, the words died in Potter's mouth. It wasn't Dumbledore. It was, in fact, Professor McGonagall, looking graver than Draco had ever seen her.

'Potter,' she said shortly, by way of greeting. If she noticed Draco, she did not acknowledge it. She closed the door behind her, holding up a hand to silence Potter before he could begin. 'The Headmaster wishes for you to know that all of your questions will be answered as soon as he can make himself available, and in the meantime, he also asks that you refrain from harassing other members of the Order on the matter.'

Potter looked furious, but oddly resigned. '_Is he alive?_' he ground out stubbornly.

McGonagall looked from Potter to Draco, who was watching her with the same horrified, desperate _need _to be informed on his face, and sighed deeply.

'For now,' she said quietly.

She swept past them both towards the basement, and by the time she'd closed the door behind her, Potter had sunk back down to the floor.

Draco felt, not for the first time, hopelessly helpless. It was a horrible feeling to have combined with the awful, foreboding knowledge that one of the only people he still cared anything at all about was lying somewhere, lying somewhere _dying—_that, somewhere, unbeknownst to him, Severus Snape was hanging in a delicate limbo he had absolutely no control over. He wanted to scream, in outrage, frustration, helplessness—he wanted to hit something, or someone, in hopes to transfer his pain _somewhere _other than inside of him, because he'd already lost his mother and he'd lost his father long before he was born, and he was slowly losing his grip on reality as it was and if he lost Snape—

'He'll be all right,' Potter said, his whisper like an fog horn in the empty silence of the hall. He wasn't looking at Draco, but the opposite wall of the rising stairwell, looking oddly lost. 'He's a bastard and I hate him, but he's a _tough bastard _and he's—he'll be _all right_.'

It suddenly occurred to Draco how very uncharacteristic this behaviour was coming from Potter. For one, Potter _never _looked lost. Even when he was lost, Potter always had a plan, even if it was just a plan of reaction that he made up as he went, and it always worked out as if he'd had it down from the outset. Second, was that Potter was talking to _him, _even if indirectly, almost as if to reassure him. Potter never talked to him at all, if he could help it, and he certainly could have helped it right now, but he hadn't. And third, the worst, was that Potter almost seemed to hope Snape _was _all right—Snape, the same man who had tortured him relentlessly for the past six years of his life, who had humiliated and punished and put down for very little and sometimes no provocation at all.

Right now, Potter looked and sounded as lost and helpless as Draco felt, and it was really pissing Draco off.

'He'll be all right,' Potter said again. He sounded like he was talking mostly to himself; his voice was as distant and empty as he stare, which was still focused on the wall of the stairwell.

Draco stepped over him, exerting enough self-control not to kick him in the head on the way, and ran back up the stairs.

_He'd better be._

- - -

Dumbledore did not arrive until sometime mid-mourning, around eight o'clock. Most of the house was still hanging in a fitful daze of sleep, but Draco was wide awake when he heard the muffled _crack _outside the front, the quiet creak of the front door's hinges. Rolling out of bed, he dressed quickly; Potter had not come back since Draco had left him alone in the hall. Draco had not bothered to see what had become of him. Pulling on the jeans Tonks had given him and a light set of robes from his trunk, Draco slipped out of the bedroom and managed silently down the stairs.

At the bottom, he heard quiet voices from the living room.

'—could have been much worse,' came Dumbledore's low voice through the entryway. 'I cannot thank you enough, Harry.'

'Don't,' Potter said quickly, just as quietly. 'But he'll be—you know, okay, eventually?'

'Eventually,' Dumbledore confirmed. 'And if I know Severus, much more quickly than most. He has made me a firm believer in the sentiment that bitterness makes one exceptionally resilient.'

Potter gave a short, empty laugh. 'Right. Um. You didn't—you know. Tell him. Did you?'

'I have not had the chance to tell him anything,' Dumbledore said quietly, though curiously. 'He hasn't been conscious since he was found.'

'Okay. Good. Look.' Draco moved backwards on the banister, so he could _just_ see into the living room; Potter had his hands tangled in his hair, as if trying to slowly scalp himself. '_Don't_, all right? Tell him. That it was—me.'

Dumbledore, the barest hint of his profile visible, raised his eyebrows. 'I am sure he will be most curious when he awakens to find that he is most certainly not dead, and wish to know why, Harry.'

'Make something up.'

'Harry,' Dumbledore said, sternly, gently, all at once—Draco wondered where Dumbledore learned to talk like that, like he understood everything and knew that in the end, everything would work out all right. 'I know your relationship with Professor Snape is less than amiable, but I would hope that you were at least mature enough to acknowledge the man is not a simpleton. It would be an insult to the trust I've instilled in him to answer with anything less than the truth.'

Potter was silent. Dumbledore watched him for a moment, then continued, 'However, I understand your position, and the effects such information may have on an already delicate balance of tolerance. I will be vague,' he assured, putting a hand on Potter's shoulder, who looked up at him, 'but that is the best I can promise you.'

Potter hesitated, then nodded quickly, sagging under the Headmaster's hand. 'Thank you,' he said quietly. 'Are you going back?'

'Yes,' Dumbledore said, removing his hand and standing back, so he was out of sight from where Draco sat hiding in the shadow of the stair landing. 'Is there anything else you wish to ask me before I return?'

There was a moment of silence. Potter's brow was furrowed over his glasses; he turned so his back was to Draco. 'I'm worried,' he said, finally, quieter than before. Draco had to strain to hear him.

'Worried about what, Harry? Well,' Dumbledore added, 'besides the obvious.'

'Malfoy.'

There was a pause from Dumbledore, in which Draco also stopped breathing. Well _that_ certainly hadn't been obvious.

'I think,' Potter continued. 'I think maybe you should take him with you.'

Dumbledore still didn't reply. Draco's lungs screamed and he sucked in a quick breath to alleviate the burning in his chest.

'To see Snape, I mean,' Potter continued, growing awkward in the silence. 'Especially after his mum, and all—he was really—last night—I think it'd do him good. To go.'

'I see,' said Dumbledore. 'You know, Harry, I actually think I agree with you. Perhaps if Mr Malfoy would continue down the rest of the stairs, I could ask his opinion on the matter.'

It took a moment for what he'd said to sink in; by then, Potter had wheeled around and spotted Draco skulking behind the thick banister. Scowling, Draco stood up and walked swiftly into the living room.

'Good morning,' Dumbledore said when Draco did not say anything. He was too busy looking haughty while Potter glowered at him. 'So, Mr Malfoy, I assume you've heard enough of the conversation that you do not require a recap.'

Draco did not answer right away. He kept glaring at Potter, hoping he would leave. Potter stubbornly held his ground and, annoyed but too anxious to wait it out, Draco turned his attention to the Headmaster. 'I would like to go, sir,' he said, quietly—he did not, after all, want Weasleys waking and making a mess of his escape. 'If that's all right.'

'I cannot see why it would be anything but,' Dumbledore replied, eyes twinkling over his glasses. 'Harry, if you'd be so kind to pass the message along to the others; Mr Malfoy and I should only be a couple of hours, at most.'

Potter nodded and, after a hesitant glance at Draco (which Draco answered with a scowl), left the room.

Dumbledore stepped up to the fireplace, retrieving an old, ornately-carved wooden box from the mantle. He opened it and offered the contents to Draco: Floo powder.

'You know the drill, Mr Malfoy,' Dumbledore said, eyeing him over his spectacles.

It was both unnecessary and dangerous, Draco realised, what the Headmaster was doing: unnecessary, because they could just as easily use Side-Along Apparition or a Portkey to get to the hospital; dangerous, because this left Draco—and Draco alone—to decide his ultimate destination. He could go anywhere, provided it was connected to the Floo Network. There were dozens of places he could go that the Order, even Dumbledore, could not follow. Places that he could wait at until his father came to collect him, or places he could run from and hide on his own. This, Draco realised, was not so much a trip to see Snape, but a test—a test and a show of good faith.

Draco took a handful of the dust and stepped into the fireplace, facing Dumbledore; he wanted so very badly to prove him wrong. To see those understanding, proud eyes dull up with disappointment and failure.

But Draco wanted to see Snape more.

'St Mungo's Hospital,' he said clearly, and threw the dust down at his feet.

The last thing he saw before spiralling off into the green wreath of flames were two bright, twinkling blue orbs.

- - -

**P.S.** Aqua Teen Hunger Force Master Shake ♥ Love ♥


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

_'These feelings are like your mother's breasts; _  
_you know where they are, but they're best left untouched.'_  
- Two and a Half Men

By the time Draco had dusted the excess Floo Powder off his person, a small, stalwart witch had opened the door to the arrival room. She was wearing the standard lime-green robes, had short, curly grey hair, and her name tag read: 'Amelia Bogstosh'. Draco thought this was a rather unfortunate surname and couldn't understand why she would ever want it displayed to the general public.

She hurried forward to greet Dumbledore, stepping out of the fireplace after Draco. 'Ah, good morning again, Amelia. Has there been any change?'

'It's hard to say,' Amelia informed him in a low voice. 'He's stable, but still unconscious. It's too soon to tell anything for certain.'

'I've heard worse news,' Dumbledore said, nodding. Draco trailed behind in silence as Dumbledore followed the woman out of the Floo room and into the main lobby. They stepped into the lift and instead of going up, the Healer withdrew her wand and prodded something on the console Draco couldn't quite see; the was a soft jerk and a loud click, and the lift started to descend.

The descent didn't last long. The doors opened a few moments later as the lift halted, admitting them to a brightly-lit, bare hallway with several doors along either side. Draco realised these must be the _secure _private wards—a place for patients who would be in danger out in the open, or worse, endanger the other patients around them. Amelia led them to the furthest door down on the left. Two formidable-looking wizards dressed in slate robes with gold badges pinned to their chests stood outside the door, and nodded to Dumbledore as he followed Amelia inside.

Draco followed him quickly, and found himself in a very white, sterile-looking room with a drawn curtain on one end. It smelled like bleach and vinegar and made him wrinkle his nose. He moved to follow Dumbledore over to the curtain just as Amelia made to hold him back.

'No, dear, I don't think you should—'

'It's all right, Amelia,' Dumbledore said, without turning around.

Amelia pursed her lips and looked very much like Madam Pomfrey; Draco didn't wait for her to think up an argument and moved around her, walking swiftly over to stand beside the Headmaster as he drew the curtain back.

It took a great deal of physical restraint not to recoil at the sight, and even more not to give into the impulse to vomit. Snape was as white as the sheets he was lain on, but dark red, blue, and purple veins strangled what little skin that was visible. It looked as if the top layer of flesh were transparent. Faint colours of yellow and putrid green bloomed under the markings, making it look like an enormous bruise had grown inside of him, slowly staining him from the inside out. It was worst around his neck and jugular, reaching up between his ear and jaw to claw at his face, and Draco could see the horrible markings tainting the wrist and hand that had slipped out from under the sheets.

His eyes were lightly closed and his chest fell and rose so slowly Draco had to concentrate to ascertain the man was breathing; a small, clear tube was hooked into the corner of his mouth and trailed into a small vial on the beside table, full of a salmon-coloured liquid that Draco recognised as Blood-Replenishing Potion. A small tub of yellow paste sat open beside it, probably for the bruising.

Unable to keep looking, Draco closed his eyes and took a deep, unsteady breath. If it hadn't been for the fact that Snape was breathing, Draco would have assumed him already dead.

'He's looking much better than when we found him,' Dumbledore murmured quietly. Draco gave him an incredulous look; he couldn't _imagine _anyone alive looking much worse than this. 'Oh, yes, I daresay that had we found him ten minutes later, there wouldn't have been anything any Healer could have done for him. Perhaps now you understand why, despite your wishes, I could not allow you to remain with Professor Snape after the incident at Hogwarts.'

Draco did not say anything. Amelia came over to the other side of the bed, wand drawn, whispering medical spells under her breath to check the vitals. Draco watched her impassively beside the Headmaster, who was taking turns watching Snape and the blonde with quiet curiosity.

'I will let you know if anything changes,' Amelia told the Headmaster, breaking the near-silence. 'Are the gentlemen outside—'

'They will remain here, if that's all right,' Dumbledore confirmed, nodding. 'And I appreciate it, thank you. Mr Malfoy...'

The lines in Snape's face were more severe than Draco remembered. His hair, usually oily and unkempt, was still lank but clean and lying flat against the pillow, a shocking black ink stain against the white sheets. Draco felt the overwhelming need to sit down, and did, on the small stool at his bedside.

Dumbledore was quiet for a moment, approaching slowly from behind. 'Mr Malfoy, there is nothing you can do for him. I will alert you as soon as I know anything—'

'I want to stay,' Draco said, eyes still on the unconscious form of his professor. 'I—please,' he said, looking up at Dumbledore, then Amelia. 'I won't be any trouble.'

It wasn't as if he was asking for much, or like he could go anywhere. There _were _two Aurors stationed outside the room, and they were deep inside the secure ward at St Mungo's, so it wasn't as if he was in any real danger while he was there. And considering what he had to go back to...

Dumbledore looked at Amelia, who looked troubled. 'I don't know,' he said, truthfully. 'Would it be inconvenient for you if he stayed?'

Draco gave the woman the best pleading-eyes he could. She pursed her lips firmly, but looked rather resigned. 'Not particularly. I don't advise it, however.'

Dumbledore looked back at Draco. 'Are you sure you wish to remain? Someone may not be available to fetch you should you decide to return prematurely.'

'I'm sure,' Draco said, his mind made. 'I want to stay. Please.'

Draco had never said the word 'please' so much as he had over the past week. It felt and sounded like he was pulling needles through his cheeks every time he said it, but he had never meant it so much in his life. Dumbledore, thankfully, seemed to realise this, and nodded briefly.

'Very well. I will be in my office,' he told Amelia, 'should anything change. Thank you.'

Amelia showed him to the door and then returned, using her wand to conjure a proper chair for Draco to sit in before leaving. He waited until she'd left and closed the door before pulling the chair directly up to Snape's bedside, so close he could rest his elbows on it, and settled down. While a combination of worry and adrenaline had kept him wide-awake all night, a wave of exhaustion washed over him now, making him dizzy and slightly nauseous—the smell of vinegar in the room certainly did not help any.

He was fast asleep before he knew what hit him.

- - -

With every day that passed, the chances that Snape would ever wake up grew slimmer. Draco had heard one of the Healers speaking to another while he pretended to sleep, eyes barely open; the pitiful shake of their head, the empathetic tone of voice—it sickened and infuriated him. Like they gave a damn at _all_.

'That poor boy,' Amelia said, shaking her head again. 'Been here since Tuesday; hasn't left the man's side. I don't know what to tell him.'

'Poor kid,' the other Healer had agreed, a younger, clean-shaven bloke with red hair. 'A relative?'

'No, I don't think so—they look like night and day, anyway. But the poor dear hasn't even eaten properly since he's arrived, we're going to have to send him home soon...'

Draco did not bother to point out he had no home to go to.

Four days, and all Draco had eaten was some bread, fruit, and water straight from the tap. He may have not had that much, had Amelia given him a moment's peace during mealtimes. Other than taking time to use the loo and a quick shower every second day, Draco didn't move from the bed side. An intravenous apparatus, something inspired by Muggle medicine Draco had never seen before, had been set up on the opposite side of the bed. It was a simple machine: a tall, thin pole that suspended a small, clear pouch high above the bed that was full of some sort of hydrating, nourishing solution. A thin tube ran from the bottom of the pouch down to the bed, where the end had been inserted via syringe into the skin of Snape's left hand.

Amelia had paused when uncovering his arm, her eyes lingering on the Dark Mark, and Draco had glared, daring her to say a word. She wasn't surprised—probably a confident of Dumbledore's and therefore informed—but she certainly did not approve, if the scowl on her face was any indication.

Draco watched the clear solution drip from the pouch into the tube, the slight rise and fall of Snape's chest beneath the white sheets. Scooting his chair closer, Draco folded his arms on the side of the bed and laid his head down to wait. And he would continue to wait, and sit here every day if he had to—as long as it took.

- - -

On the fifth day when Draco opened his eyes, it felt like no time at all had gone by. Had he fallen asleep? Taken a nap, or just nodded off? It was hard to tell, as the room was underground and there were no windows, but it hadn't _felt _like he had gotten any sleep—and if he'd been asleep, what had woken him up—

'It's about time, Mr Malfoy. I was beginning to wonder which one of us was supposed to be comatose.'

Draco jerked upright so quickly it left him feeling light-headed. His vision swam slightly as his eyes got over the sudden motion and the sleepiness, and, slowly, Snape came into focus.

He was sitting upright—someone had come by to prop the front of the bed up and stuff an extra pillow behind him, and the horrible bruising had faded considerably since Draco had first seen it. Only a very faint, yellow-purple tint remained, blooming out of the collar of his robes—the robes themselves were thin and grey, standard-issue patient robes directly from the hospital. Aside from the off-colour complexion, Snape looked very much like himself, and gave Draco a rather disdainful once-over.

Draco tried to speak, and regretted it instantly. His throat was parched and raw, and Snape rolled his eyes heavily, indicating the pitcher on the bedside table. 'Drink something before you become dehydrated, or it'll be you on this table.'

Draco did not argue; being in the man's House for six years and he'd learned better than to argue with _that_ tone. He drained a glass quickly, clearing his throat carefully when he finished. 'How long have you been awake?' he asked, then winced; his voice sounded like he was dragging it over sandpaper.

Snape made to shrug, winced, and decided to express himself verbally instead. 'Not long. The Healer's come and gone, I expect the Headmaster will be arriving with someone to fetch you shortly.'

'But I—'

'Mr Malfoy, you've just spent the past five days in this room, and the last eight and a half hours sleeping upright, according to the nurse,' Snape interrupted, raising his eyebrows as Draco winced. So _that_'s what the stiffness was from. 'You will be returning to Headquarters and eating a proper meal, and then proceed to have a solid night of rest in a proper bed.'

Draco gave him a look. 'With all due respect, Professor, my mother is _dead_, but thanks.'

Snape smirked unpleasantly. 'And with all due respect to _her_, that does not make my promises worth any less. You will do as you're told.'

Draco wanted to ask just what promises exactly these happened to be, but Snape interrupted him before he could begin. 'I do find it rather curious that the Headmaster managed to find me so quickly,' he said, looking sidelong at Draco. 'You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?'

Draco did not know where Snape had been found, but if he thought _Draco_ had anything to do with it, he could wager a good guess. He almost let the word 'Potter' out of his mouth, and then remembered the conversation he eavesdropped on the morning he'd come here, and closed his mouth.

Snape raised an eyebrow. Draco sighed and dropped his head in his hands. 'I though you'd never wake up,' he said thickly.

Snape made a derisive noise in his nose. 'It would take more than the likes of your father and his idiots to bring about my end, Mr Malfoy.'

The door opened then, interrupting the conversation. Dumbledore came in, followed by Professor McGonagall and Lupin, all of whom looked immensely relieved.

Snape scowled. 'I don't suppose you've come to relieve me of this place,' he said sourly.

'Unfortunately, no,' Dumbledore said, smiling faintly. 'Not quite yet. Another day or two of bed rest, and then we shall see about moving you back to the infirmary at school, if it would suit you.'

'Better than here,' Scape muttered, glaring at the white, spotless walls as if they were put there as a personal insult to him. It must have been one hell of a change from the dark, dank room that served as his office in the dungeons, Draco thought.

'I am very glad to see you awake, Severus,' McGonagall said. 'You gave us quite a fright.'

'Pity,' Snape said, not rolling his eyes but looking as if he greatly desired to do so.

'Draco,' Dumbledore said, facing him. 'I believe your presence at Headquarters is well over-do. Remus will be taking you back with him.'

'But he just woke up!' Draco snapped, furious. 'I don't _want _to go back there!'

'Regretfully, what we want and what we must do are not always the same,' Dumbledore continued, eyeing him over his spectacles. 'I believe St Mungo's has already been quite generous with accommodating your presence.'

'But I—'

'Draco.' Snape was giving him a frighteningly severe look. 'You will _do as you're told_. Have I made myself clear?'

Seeing he was going to be overruled one way or another, Draco clamped his mouth shut and stood up. Lupin smiled at him and held out an arm. 'Come, Draco—Molly's been worried sick about you.'

_Why_? he wanted to ask. Why the hell would she give a damn about him? He wasn't _her _son. Didn't she have enough of those to worry about?

But he didn't. He took one last look at Snape, who continued to force his silence with that look alone, and followed Lupin out of the room.

- - -

Draco was in a bad enough mood as it was. Returning to Grimmauld Place, unsurprisingly, only made it worse.

A large amount of muffled noise was coming from the den. There was a lot of laughing, loud voices, and someone was singing along with the _Weird Sister_'s record playing in the background. Draco crushed the urge to storm into the room and set the Victrola on fire. How could anyone laugh, at a time like this? Snape may not have been the world's most popular person, but he was still a _person_, lying on his deathbed the past week, and he had done more for these people than any of them would ever properly acknowledge.

Draco tried to go straight up the stairs but Lupin headed him off. 'You need to get back on a proper schedule,' Lupin said, shaking his head. 'It's still a bit too early for an early night, I'm afraid. Besides, Tonks wants to see you.'

Grimacing, Draco allowed himself to be marched into the living room. Weasley, the twins, Ginny, and Potter all sat in a circle on the floor, the cards spread between them and many scorch marks upon the floor. Granger was sitting cross-legged in a large armchair with a very large cat and book set in her lap, blocking all of her face and most of her hair from view. Tonks was stretched across the sofa on her stomach, whispering something into one of the twins' ears—Ginny leaned sideways and whispered something to Potter, who smirked and threw down a card.

'Snap!' called the other twin, throwing his hand down as well. The was a loud _snap _and a small cloud of smoke. 'Read 'm and weep.'

'Bastard,' Weasley muttered, throwing his hand into the pile.

'I think I'll fold,' the other twin said, turning away from Tonks and tucking his card away, face-down.

Ginny glanced at Potter, shared a smirk, and dropped her triple spades on top. 'A_hem_.'

'You dirty cheat, you've been swapping cards!' Weasley snapped indignantly, thrusting a finger of accusation at Potter.

Potter grinned a bit sheepishly and Ginny leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. 'I'd like to see you _prove _it.'

'Draco!' No longer distracted by the twin, Tonks had looked up and saw Draco standing in the doorway. Lupin had already gone past and taken a seat in the settee opposite her. 'Hell, it's about time they brought you back. How is he?'

The talking around the cards ceased, and Draco found himself the centre of attention. Normally, this was something he worked to achieve. Now, he just wanted to be invisible. He shrugged and leaned against the door frame. 'He's awake.'

'Really?' Granger had put down her book, resting the spine on top of the fat, orange tabby in her lap. 'When Dumbledore was here he looked really worried—he said they couldn't say for sure either way—'

'Will he be all right?' Potter interrupted.

Draco, grateful for an excuse not to speak to Granger directly, gave a non-committal nod-shrug gesture. 'Guess so.'

'Well, that's a relief,' Tonks said, sagging back onto the couch. 'Really can't afford to lose him.'

'Why? He's no good as a spy any more, now that Malfoy here went and blew his cover,' said one of the twins, and Tonks said, 'Fred!' rather sharply.

'Honestly,' Granger said, looking disgusted. 'Spy or not he's still a professor, imagine the trouble Dumbledore would have finding another _Defence Against the Dark Arts_ teacher—'

'Not to mention, you know, the tiny detail that he's a fucking human being and all,' Draco snapped, glaring at them all. Fred blinked at him.

'That's enough,' Lupin intervened before a fight could get going. He looked rather weary. 'We're _all _glad to hear Severus will make a full recovery.'

'Who's hungry?' Tonks suggested brightly, rolling off the couch and knocking over the freshly-shuffled deck of cards. She hopped over the circle of Gryffindors on the floor and grinned at Draco. 'You look _starved_. Molly said if we didn't feed you at least two helpings of dinner she wouldn't cook for a week, and that means _I'd_ have to cook, and you _don't_ want that, trust me.' She winked. 'I'd burn the place down.'

Draco allowed himself to be led away from the glares in the den to the basement, where the smell of food still lingered even thought it was well past tea-time. Tonks started spooning stew out of a large pot still simmering on the stove into two bowls, and slipped into the seat opposite Draco and passed him one. Draco accepted it without argument, eating on auto-pilot and avoiding her eyes. Tonks gave up on watching him and looked down at her bowl instead, prodding it more than she was eating it.

Draco paused to swallow, then asked quietly, 'What happened to him?'

'I couldn't tell you for sure.' Tonks was still looking at her food, pushing it around with her spoon. 'I arrived with Remus, we didn't get there quick enough—we were both on duty elsewhere, and by the time we got there—'

'The Manor?' Draco supplied.

Tonks pinched her lips. 'How'd you know?'

'Lucky guess,' Draco said dryly.

'Well, anyway, Dumbledore had gotten there first, of course—scared off most of the Death Eaters, too, from what I've heard. A few of them stuck around to fight, but didn't stand a chance once Moody, Kingsley and the others showed up. Dumbledore's practically five Aurors on his own.' She finally took a mouthful, chewing too quickly and swallowing thickly. 'It was a _mess_, that's what I _can _tell you.'

'My father was there,' Draco said, stabbing at a potato with his spoon. 'Snape said so.'

'Did he?' Tonks shrugged and quickly devoured another mouthful of stew. 'Well, then, Snape has to be a tougher bastard than I gave him credit for, because from what Dumbledore told us, our aunty Bellatrix was there, too.'

There was a loud crash from upstairs, and then the muffled sound of the portrait of Mrs Black screaming at the top of her lungs. And then someone else upstairs screamed, someone who was definitely _not_ the portrait, and someone that sounded a lot like Lupin started shouting—Tonks was on her feet in an instant, knocking over her chair and spilling most of their stew in the process.

Draco was right after her, but she turned at the door of the stairs, rounding on him. '_Stay here!_'

'But—'

She slammed the door behind her, leaving him in the kitchen. Draco's temper flared, then subsided slightly when he thought about it; if it was trouble, it was probably in his best interests to keep his head low, just in case it was trouble looking for _him_. The screaming, aside from the portrait, had stopped, but people were still talking loudly, and now Potter was shouting, and there were loud, thunderous footsteps running down to the kitchen—Draco hurried to the far end of the room and flattened himself against the bench just as the door burst open and half a dozen people came spilling through it, covered in what looked like blood.

'Shit, shit, shit!' Tonks, wand in-between her teeth, had her arm under the shoulder of a bloody, limp body of a tall boy with his head hung and so bloody it was impossible to distinguish. Potter was on the other side, using his hands to hold the boy's chest up and was smeared with blood and dirt from the body. Hermione was behind them all, blood-streaked and crying, Weasley holding her away from the mess. Lupin, bringing up the rear, went straight to the fireplace and threw a handful of Floo Powder into it.

Draco watched in horrified awe as Tonks and Potter counted quickly to three, then hoisted the limp body onto the table—the bloody boy gave a cry that made everyone in the room cringe. Ginny came thundering down the stairs just in time to get the full blast of it—Draco could see there were tears in her eyes, too, but unlike Granger, she ran right up to the table and said, over the boy's cries, 'What can I do?'

'Get this blood off him,' Tonks said, running a hand through her hair and leaving bright red streaks where her fingers touched. 'God, get rid of it, as much as you can, I can't stop the bleeding if I can't see where it's coming from!'

Ginny started working immediately, but Potter hesitated. 'I can't—I'm terrible with medi-spells,' he explained. 'I don't want to make it worse.'

Draco said, 'I can help,' and then bit down on his tongue.

Everybody looked at him.

Oddly enough, it was Ginny that broke the silence. 'Then _help_!'

Draco stared and, shaking it off, drew his wand and started uttering spells under his breath. Simple cleaning spells would do, but were dangerous if you used them on open wounds—luckily, he'd had enough accidents as a child that his mother had taught him the basics before he'd gone off to Hogwarts. Four years of Quidditch practice and he'd become more than fluent with all of them. Ginny was working on the boy's torso, and Tonks had started at a particularly nasty spot on his leg. Draco was left to clean the upper arms, neck and face.

'Harry,' Tonks said. 'And Hermione.' Hermione quieted at her name, sniffing loudly behind them. 'Upstairs, in the cupboard under the stairs—Snape keeps a spare potion kit there, I need you to bring it down. Remus—'

'He's on his way,' Lupin said, coming over as the trio ran up the stairs. 'He's bringing Poppy with him.'

Tonks nodded, wiping the back of her forehead with her hand, smearing the blood there. The boy on the table jerked upwards; Lupin placed a firm hand on his stomach and pushed, holding him down. 'He needs blood, and fast. There's internal bleeding, I can't tell from where, but if we can hold him until Poppy's here, he'll be okay.'

Draco wasn't so sure. Cleaning the boy's face was trickier than it looked, especially since he kept jerking this way and that. Draco had had a wound that nearly killed him before, and he had learned the hard way that trying to move while you were bleeding profusely only made you lose the blood at a much more alarming rate.

'Stop _moving_,' Draco hissed desperately, bending low to get a better look. 'I know it fucking hurts but you're only making it worse!'

Potter, Weasley and Granger came thundering back down the stairs just as the bloodied boy stopped moving and rasped, '_Malfoy_?'

Draco dropped his wand.

- - -


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

_'There aren't any "versions" of the truth.'_  
- JP: The Lost World

Granger dropped the potion kit on one of the chairs by the table and charmed it open, quickly taking out bottles as Tonks listed them off. She was still helping Ginny clean off most of the fresh blood, Lupin's firm hand still in place.

Draco stood there, frozen. He did not need to clean the boy's face to know that voice. He had shared a dorm with that voice for _six years_.

'Malfoy!'

Draco looked up; Potter was staring at him, his gaze wordlessly demanding an explanation. But then Tonks pulled a torn piece of blood-soaked trouser away, and the boy snapped his eyes shut, biting down on his lip; a horrible, strangled noise crawled out of his throat anyway, and Lupin's arm shuddered with the force of the squirming but did not budge.

Draco had backed away from the table, hands over his ears and wand long forgotten on the floor. New blood was gushing from the wound on the thigh Tonks had uncovered—she was shouting, Ginny was crying and trying to clean the blood, Granger was spilling potions ingredients everywhere, Weasley had his hands wound into his hair and was staring at the scene in shock—

Draco's back hit the bench and the sharp pang in his lower back felt like it was coming from miles away, and there was so much blood everywhere that his vision looked red, and ironically enough, the only coherent thought that passed through his head was that he'd never be able to eat in that kitchen again.

- - -

Draco looked at the clock on the wall. 1:37. The sky outside the window was a deep, dark midnight-blue. The moon wasn't visible yet from this side of the house, but stars twinkled down from on high and Draco rested his forehead against the cool glass, letting it soothe the massive migraine blooming there. His ears were still ringing from hours ago, when the house had been one giant factory of horrible noise. The quiet now was almost unsettling.

By the light of several candles, he could see the reflection in the window. Theodore was still asleep on Granger's bed, twitching fitfully so that he kept throwing the sheets off onto the floor. Lupin kept retrieving and replacing them anyway. They had managed to stop the bleeding and once Madam Pomfrey arrived, and then she had sedated Theodore and patched him up as best as she could. Now all they could do was wait.

'I don't understand,' Draco said, still staring out the window. Apparently he had lost track of the lunar cycle during his week at St Mungo's. 'How can it be a full moon? _You're_ a werewolf.'

'A fact I'm all too well-aware of,' Lupin said, sitting back down on the end of the bed. 'Are you familiar with the Wolfsbane potion?'

Draco shrugged, eyes still out the window. He was watching for the moon—once it rolled over to this part of the sky, Theodore would have to be moved. 'It's supposed to be really complicated.'

'It is.' Lupin sighed somewhere behind him. 'Which is why unless Professor Snape is able to prepare it, I am forced to deal without it. Very few alchemists can brew it properly.'

Draco didn't reply. He didn't see how any of this answered his question—he would have not even been in the same room as Lupin on the night of a full moon if he could help it, but if he was going to transform, it would have started hours ago.

'After the full moon fades,' Lupin continued in the silence, 'after we transform back, I mean—there's something off about the blood. They've only discovered it just recently, which is why the Wolfsbane potion came about. The mix of wolf and human fluids, or something—the Wolfsbane imitates the mix of hormones, sort of like Muggle birth-control—'

Draco looked back at him. 'Muggle_ what_?'

Lupin sighed. 'Never mind. It's hard to explain. Basically, if taken regularly, the potion tricks my body into always thinking I've just had a full moon by keeping a constant supply of chemicals in my bloodstream.'

'So you don't even have to transform?'

'Oh, I will,' Lupin assured him. 'Rather hard to fool the moon, even with magic. Not quite yet, though, it's a fresh full moon—full enough for an un-drugged werewolf running amok outside to transform, but under the influence of the potion I can resist until the full blast of it.' He smirked, the low light casting odd patterns along his face. He looked very old. 'And when I do transform, I'm conscious of myself, unlike most werewolves. Not nearly as dangerous.'

Draco was willing to bet any sort of werewolf was just as dangerous as the next, but asked instead, 'So will he change?'

'He might, since he was bitten early this phase,' Lupin said in a quiet voice. 'We'll have to keep an eye on him. Either way, he'll be in a lot of pain whenever the moon's out. Probably best to keep him sedated.'

'Can't we just give him the potion?'

'Eventually, perhaps after this moon passes,' Lupin said, looking back down at Theodore. 'I don't think it's ever been tested on a fresh werewolf, and the first transformation is the worst. His body will be forced into an unnatural, unwilling modification. That much alone is dangerous, but meddling with it could kill him.'

There was a quiet knock at the door. A moment later Ginny stuck her head in the door, her hair wet from a recent bath. 'Tonks says it's just coming over the house now, we should move him upstairs.'

Lupin nodded and Draco stood up, coming over to the bedside. Clean of the blood, Theodore looked deathly pale against the dark sheets. Lupin began to shift him out from under the duvet, and his eyes fluttered open. He tried to sit up and winced.

'Fuck,' he hissed, his hands clawing at the duvet near his hip.

'Easy,' Lupin ordered. 'No quick movements. You'll heal fast, but not if you keep re-opening the wounds.'

A brief look of horrified realisation flickered over Theodore's face, but it passed quickly; with Lupin helping he struggled into a sitting position, then Draco joined his other side to hoist him to his feet. His weight rested on his uninjured leg and he leaned heavily into Draco. Ginny held open the door and they acted like human crutches, carrying him out and to the bottom of the stairs.

They went up one step, and Theodore made an off-key, high-pitched noise and nearly toppled forward. Draco caught his chest with a hand and Lupin, similarly, on his opposite shoulder. They paused a moment to let Theodore recover; his shoulders shook a little and he leaned his head against Draco's neck.

'You remember that time,' he whispered in Draco's ear, 'when we were teasing Millicent about her spots, and she let a Doxy loose in the dorms and it bit us all in our sleep?'

Draco winced inwardly at the memory. 'Yeah.' They had stopped teasing her after that.

'Okay, well,' Theodore paused to hiss, 'this is like that time, only it's like there was thirty Doxies instead of one.'

Draco smiled in spite of himself. 'Well, at least there's no swelling.'

'Point,' Theodore ground out. 'All right, it's not going to hurt any less if we just stand here. I want to get it over with.'

Draco looked past Theodore to Lupin, who nodded. Theodore set his jaw and they heaved, taking two stairs at a time. It was awkward and undoubtedly painful, but Theodore kept his mouth clamped shut and aside from the occasional hiss and groan, struggled up the small flight of stairs without complaint. He swayed slightly when they reached the top.

'Where's Adelle?' he asked, recovering, as they limped towards the room Draco and Potter had been sharing; it faced the opposite side of the house, which the moon had already passed over. The door stood ajar, waiting for them.

'She's downstairs,' Lupin assured him, kicking the door the rest of the way open.

Theodore didn't speak for a moment while they lowered him into the bed Draco had been using—he had his eyes clenched shut and his jaw twitched as he shifted from vertical to horizontal—then, 'I want to see her.'

'Later,' Draco said. 'She's asleep on the couch.' He did not add that the reason was because she had wept herself into exhaustion some hours before.

'Fuck later,' Theodore snapped. 'Then _wake _her.'

'Its all right,' Lupin said quickly. 'I'll get her.'

When Lupin closed the door, Draco found himself alone with Theodore for the first time that night. He waited until he heard Lupin begin to descend the stairs, then asked, his voice low, 'Christ, Theo, what_ happened_?'

Theodore, propped up against the wall on the bed, closed his eyes and shook his head. 'It's all blurry,' he said. 'These fucking potions they've got me on—I can't even think straight, but I can still _feel everything_ so I don't see the point.'

He was quiet a moment, staring at an indistinct spot on the far wall. 'We were just having dinner. Father wasn't home. Hasn't been for _weeks_, not since you'd run off from school with Potter. I mean, hell, we _knew_ what he was doing, and Mother wouldn't have us talking about it.' He paused and shook his head again, a creepy, half-smile forming on his lips. He looked directly at Draco. 'You never thought about it, did you? What they were doing, what it might mean if they screwed up. Well, I suppose you _had_ to last year, but none of us ever did. Not even after you—'

Theodore paused, and Draco did not have to ask what he meant. Theodore was reading his mind about this time the previous year, when the Dark Lord had first approached him while his father was in prison. He knew _exactly _what it was like.

'Didn't even get time to eat anything,' Theodore continued when Draco said nothing. He was looking out the window again. 'We—Mum went to answer the door.' He paused again, and Draco averted his eyes. He knew what _that _was like, too. 'I told her to let me get it, but she wouldn't have it. We heard the door open, but she didn't come back. So Eloise went to see who it was, and then we heard her scream.' There was another pause. 'I never even made it to the door to see what happened. They came rushing straight into the dining room—there two of the damn things—it was all I could do to get Adeline into the closet before they—'

The door opened, revealing Lupin and a dark-haired, minuscule girl of about three or four. She took one look around the room, spotted Theodore, and bolted for him. She jumped up on the bed and threw her tiny arms around his neck. 'Teddy!'

Theodore winced at the force of her impact, but smiled. 'Hey, dolly.'

It was apparently the wrong endearment to use, because girl sniffed loudly, her head still buried in his neck. 'I lost Marie!'

'We'll get you another,' he promised, hugging her back with one arm.

'But it won't be Marie!' the girl cried quietly. 'And I don't like this house! It's too dark and there are too many strangers and nobody will tell me where Mummy and Elly are—'

Theodore closed his eyes, and Draco did not envy him. Draco looked at Lupin, who nodded, and Draco silently excused himself from the room, backing out and closing the door behind him.

The living room was mostly deserted. Potter was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, Ginny sitting behind him on the veneer, her legs dangling around him and her arms around his shoulders. Tonks was sitting upright in the armchair by the fireplace, hands on her knees and looking uncharacteristically exhausted.

Only Ginny looked up when he entered, taking a seat on the mini-settee. 'Malfoy,' she said.

He glared at her but didn't answer.

'Did he tell you what happened?'

Draco shrugged. 'What's it to you?'

She ignored his attitude and fired off another question. 'Do you know who Elly is? That little girl kept asking for her and her mum, and I didn't know what to tell her.'

Draco didn't say anything for a moment. He became aware that both Potter and Tonks were watching him expectantly as well. He sighed. 'That little girl is his little sister,' he said. 'Eloise was the eldest—about your age,' he said, looking at Tonks. He looked back at Ginny and curled his lip. 'And what do you _think _happened to them?'

'Well, nobody knows,' Ginny said, matter-of-factly. 'The Order members that brought them here said they were the only ones at the house—there was lots of blood, but no bodies.'

'We can worry about it in the morning,' Tonks said suddenly, standing. 'And by "we" I mean the Order. You kids should get some sleep. Ginny, come on.'

Ginny sighed and leaned down; Potter shifted to the side and looked up, and kissed her quickly, whispering a 'Goodnight'. As Ginny joined her, Tonks looked back at them and said, 'Will you two be all right down here?'

Draco and Potter looked at each other, glared, and said, clipped and together, 'Yeah.'

Tonks raised her eyebrows but took her leave. It just had occurred to Draco when she said that that Theodore and Lupin were in their room, which left them with no where to sleep.

'I want the couch,' Draco said, eying the armchair and the too-small settee.

Potter narrowed his eyes. 'It's _my _house.'

'Exactly,' Draco said, smirking. 'It _is _your house, which makes _you _the host, which means out of the two of us, _you _get to be the most uncomfortable.'

'God, you're a tool.'

'Your Muggle insults notwithstanding,' Draco said, standing, 'I believe you're overdo on the floor, Potter.'

'Fine,' Potter said, standing. 'But if you get the couch, I get the spare pillows.' After a moment, he added, 'And the duvet. You can have the sheets.'

'Why do you get both pillows? _And _the duvet?'

'So I can muffle the screams when I _strangle you in your sleep_,' Potter growled, pushing past him and disappearing into the hallway.

He came back a moment later with the spare linens piled in his arms, dumped them on the couch and began sorting them. He threw the sheets at Draco and dropped his pillows on the floor by the settee, as far away as he could get from the couch without leaving the rug on top of the hardwood floor. Draco pulled off his outer robes while Potter arranged the duvet, then walked over to the fireplace and gave it a kick. It popped open, gave a little spurt, and quietly crackled to life—a small fire, enough to warm without casting too much light. He turned around to see Potter staring at him.

'What?' he said. 'Do you mind?'

'Doesn't matter if I do, does it? Since I'm the "host".'

'See,' Draco said, flopping back onto the couch and smirking down at him. 'You're learning already. And Snape says you're slow.'

'Fuck Snape, and fuck you.' Potter collapsed on his duvet. 'I don't see why I'm the "host" if it listens to you and not me.'

'Got your mum to thank for that, I'm afraid.'

'Then how come it doesn't listen to the Weasleys? They're pure-blood.'

'Pure-blood _traitors_,' Draco pointed out. 'At least as far as your house is concerned. Which is funny, considering the inhabitants of the house were either, a, blood-traitors themselves like your darling godfather, or, b, supporting the motives of a power-crazed half-blood. Rather ironic, really.'

'Yeah, it is. Kind of like how it's ironic that we're now up to two pure-blooded blokes hiding out here who've lost their mums to the same power-crazed half-blood.'

'Well if you want to get _technical_, only one of those blokes got himself torn a new one by a werewolf.' Draco paused, considering. 'How did they find Theo before they killed them anyway?'

Potter hesitated, then seemed to figure there was no harm in divulging information. 'I don't know specifics, but I know the Order keeps tags on all the Death Eater homes. Just in case they come home.'

Draco raised his eyebrows. 'Or screw up.'

'Or that,' Potter agreed, frowning.

Draco frowned, too. He didn't like how the conversation had consisted entirely of the usual petty insults and sneers, then veered into something more mutual and much more serious. It was _stupid_. He didn't talk to _Potter_. Or Gryffindors in general, if he could help it.

'Right,' Draco said, rolling over and drawing the sheets up. 'I'm going to sleep.'

It was nice and quiet for a blessed whole two minutes. Then Potter said, 'Hey, Malfoy.'

Draco groaned and stuffed his head into the corner of the couch cushions. '_What_, Potter.'

'Is he a friend of yours?'

Draco had to pause before rolling over, giving Potter an incredulous look. 'What the hell do you mean, is he a friend of mine? We shared a dormitory for six years.'

'Doesn't mean anything,' Potter said, shrugging from his spot on the floor. 'You never hung out with him much, at least from what we could see. It was always Crabbe and Goyle.'

'Okay, this may be a foreign concept to you, but,' Draco said, giving him a pointed look, 'most Slytherins considered_ all _of their room-mates friends, Potter.'

'Well, all of mine were my friends, too.'

'Even Thomas and Finnigan?'

'Yes!'

'Interesting, considering you never hung out with them much, at least from what we could see.' Draco smirked. 'Funny, what you don't know when you don't care enough to notice anything besides the obvious.'

Potter scowled but didn't say anything. Draco, annoyed, continued, 'Anyway, why do you care if he's my friend or not?'

Shrugging, Potter laid down and rolled over. 'You seemed real bothered once you realised who it was. And he kept asking for you,' he added, 'when you went to wash the blood off. He didn't seem to like us around.'

'Can you blame him?' Draco asked the back of his head. 'Hell, I don't like any of you around, either.'

'Well of course _you_ don't. You're a prick and we hate you. But we never did anything to him or Zabini in school—'

'Except bad-mouth Slytherin every chance you got,' Draco interrupted. 'I know you may find this a little hard to believe, Potter, but there are some very decent people in Slytherin—and I can promise you that _all of them_ despise you to one degree or another, whether you knew them or not.'

'You act like you never bad-mouthed Gryffindor,' Potter returned, rolling back to glare at him. His eyes were a dark, yellowed amber, reflecting the flames from the fireplace. 'There's plenty of decent people in my House that despise you and _your _lot, too.'

'The difference there,' Draco said, smirking one last time before waving his hand—the flames extinguished with a snap, leaving them in the darkness, 'is that _I _don't care.'

Potter didn't say anything after that and Draco, relieved, rolled back over and went to sleep.

- - -


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

_'Oh, huzzah, look—it's the lesser of two evils._'  
- Family Guy 

When Draco awoke the next morning, Potter was gone, as were the pillows and the duvet. Draco yawned and, content in having the living room to himself, did not get up immediately. Stretching out and letting his mind slowly rise out of its morning drowsiness, he heard hushed voices in the hall, but did not think much of them. But the voices grew more acute, the urgency of the argument growing as the voices moved closer to the living room. Draco closed his eyes again and rolled over to face the back of the couch. The voices, apparently under the misinformed opinion that he was still fast asleep, wandered into the living room where he could hear them clearly.

'—immediately.' The voice, Draco recognised, was that of the Weasley mother. 'After breakfast, as soon as they're packed.'

There was a pause, then Lupin's voice. 'I understand your concerns, Molly, but I really don't think it's necessary. He's no more dangerous than I—'

'You are an adult and have dealt with this—this _issue _since you were very young, much younger than him,' Mrs Weasley insisted. 'Not only is he a stranger but he is also a _teenager_, Remus, and I've dealt with enough of those to know he's unstable as it is just being a boy. Wasn't it harder for you, at that age? To control yourself?'

Lupin was quiet again, and Mrs Weasley continued. 'Thought so. And you're as mild as boys come, I can tell you that much. I don't know this boy or what he's like, and I'm sure he's no devil and I know it's not his fault, but I won't have my children anywhere near him.'

'He has no where else to go, Molly,' Lupin pointed out. 'And it would help a lot if he had someone around who understood what he was going through.'

'I know,' Mrs Weasley said, calming. 'Which is why he can stay. But my children will be home before nightfall.'

There were quick footsteps, fading from the room; a small pause, then a quiet sigh—Lupin, sounding resigned, his slower footsteps following her path. Draco narrowed his eyes, angry and irate and flooded with relief all the same. So, the Weasleys were leaving. Probably Potter as well, then. He wondered if they'd make him leave, too.

Well, they could try, he thought, but he wasn't going anywhere.

- - -

Breakfast was a rather dismal affair. Nobody said anything except Tonks, who'd valiantly kept trying to make small talk and failing spectacularly. She had finally given up, a begrudged look on her face, and began stabbing her eggs with unnecessary ferocity. Draco ate quietly, wedged safely between her and Adeline, the latter of which had clung to Draco like she'd been Spellotaped to his side since morning, shooting terrified, furtive looks at everyone else. She refused to speak at all and had actually started crying when Mrs Weasley tried to speak to her directly, but at least she was eating—so much, in fact, that she had gone through two helpings and was now nicking bacon off Draco's plate when she thought he wasn't looking.

Theodore was still upstairs, handicapped by his wound, or so Mrs Weasley had informed the table at large. By the way Lupin glanced at her and from his comment last night, Draco was willing to bet that Theodore was not only fully healed but probably hungry as hell and more than able to come downstairs to eat. They would bring him his breakfast afterwards, Lupin'd promised, however, and no one had said anything at all and just ate what they were given without questions or complaints. It was more like the dinners Draco was used to at home, and, oddly enough, he found himself missing the noise.

Long after the clinking of silverware had faded, there was a simultaneous scraping of chairs as the Weasleys, Potter, Granger, and Tonks all stood to sort their dishes and slowly filter upstairs. Only Lupin remained at the table with them, not eating, just quietly sipping his tea. It wasn't until the last of the horde had vanished up the stairs that something tugged at the side of his shirt—it was another one of Tonks', this one with some odd Muggle emblem Draco didn't know or understand. He looked down and saw Adeline with one hand hooked onto his shirt near his ribs, pulling insistently.

When she saw he'd noticed her, she whispered, 'I wanna see Teddy.'

Draco looked up and saw Lupin watching him; he nodded and Draco put down his utensils, standing quietly and plucking Adeline from her seat. She sat sideways on his hip with her arms firmly lodged around his shoulder. Draco looked at the table to see Lupin had gathered a plate full of breakfast for Theodore—bacon, sausages, smoked ham, and eggs. No potatoes, no fruit, no toast, nothing else—just the meat.

'Uh,' Draco said. 'You do know that Theo's a vegetarian, right?'

Lupin looked up at him, surprised—and a little sad. 'Not any more.'

- - -

Theodore wrinkled his nose.

'You're going to have to get used to it, I'm afraid,' Lupin said, looking apologetic. 'You can eat other things, of course, but the nights leading up to a full moon—the stomach of a wolf won't agree with anything else, you'll just be causing yourself more misery.'

Theodore said nothing, ignoring the plate of food and glaring out the window. It was overcast and foggy, a small drizzle sprinkling the window with mist, and Adeline sat in her brother's lap sucking on her thumb and holding her new doll in a one-handed hug. It was some ancient, lavishly dressed French bisque Mrs Weasley had dug out of a trunk in the attic and brightened up with a few cleaning spells.

'You'll need the extra protein anyway, to support the monthly upset in your body,' Lupin continued, 'And since that wound has healed already, you'll be in effect tonight.'

Theodore closed his eyes and let one side of his head rest against the wall beside his bed. 'Tonight.'

'All the Weasleys are leaving,' Draco pointed out, hoping this would be at least somewhat consoling. 'Hopefully Potter, too.'

Theodore glanced at him sideways. 'Malfoy, can you do me a favour?' Draco shrugged. 'Take Adelle downstairs. I need to—I'll only be a minute,' he said, his eyes darting to Lupin. 'Go on, dolly.'

Adeline gave her brother a very reproachful look, but obeyed; it was something to be said for children raised in traditional, pure-blood homes--an automatic reaction, just to do as they were told by their parents and, if they had any, their older siblings. Draco couldn't remember a time he'd gone against a direct order from his father, anyway.

Draco picked her up again and she clung to his side, making him cringe; he was not really a fan of being man-handled, even by very small children who were scared and alone in an alien house. Out in the hall as he carried the girl towards the stairs, they passed the room on the other side. The door was ajar, and there were raised, agitated voices coming from inside. Draco held a finger to his lips and Adeline nodded, and he stopped just short of the doorway to listen.

'I don't give a damn what mum says,' Weasley snapped. 'If you're staying, so am I.'

'I'm not staying because I _want _to,' Potter returned, defensively. 'I _have _to stay. I told you, Dumbledore reckons it's too dangerous for me to be anywhere else I don't need to be.'

'Oh, like it's safe _here _with the werewolves!' Weasley snapped back.

Potter sighed heavily, and Draco thought he understood why; Potter had meant it was too dangerous for him to be anywhere _else _because he would bring the danger _with_ him—not because he thought he himself would end up dead, werewolves or no werewolves.

Potter, however, didn't point this out. 'Look, Tonks and Hermione are going, too. It's just for a couple of days, Ron. It's not like I won't be here when you get back.'

'So it's just you and two werewolves?'

'Well—no.' Potter paused. 'I think Malfoy and the girl are staying, too.'

'Oh, well, that's _much_ better then, wouldn't want to leave you alone with a couple of blood-thirsty animals and someone we didn't trust,' Weasley sneered.

'Malfoy couldn't cause any trouble even if he wanted to,' Potter snapped.

'I don't even know why you're letting him _stay_ here, Harry.'

'He has no where else to go!'

'So _what_?' Weasley snapped. 'Do you think he'd give two shits if it were you? No!'

'That doesn't mean we shouldn't do it. And anyway, I don't see why it's a big deal—'

'Because you'll let that sonofabitch stay here with you, but you expect me to go! We said we'd stick with you, Harry, and we fucking meant it—_both_ of us!'

Draco bit down on his tongue to keep himself from charging in the room and giving them _both _what-for, and instead continued downstairs to the living room, where Tonks, Mrs Weasley, Charlie, Ginny and Granger were already waiting, a pile of trunks at their feet. Draco stuck to the far edge of the room and circled towards the fireplace, where he put Adeline down on the floor before giving the grate a kick. Even in summer, it was damp and cold in this House like the weather outside, likely because of the Dementors.

'Oh, thank you, dear,' Mrs Weasley said to him, turning around and startling him. 'Is Lupin still upstairs?'

Draco nodded but said nothing, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside Adeline and leaning his back against the wall beside the mantle. Tonks tapped her fingers against her thighs, her nails clicking against the dragon-hide leather of her trousers. 'Fred and George are taking _ages_,' she complained. 'I swear they have an entire separate trunk just for their joke junk.'

'_Junk_, did you say?' chimed one of the twins, swinging into the room with an overflowing trunk. 'George, do you think she could be referring to the fruits of our genius?'

'Only the delusional could believe such blasphemy,' George declared solemnly, swinging in after his twin, two smaller trunks leaking ties and the ends of robes in both hands.

There were the sounds of more footsteps behind them, still thudding quietly down the stairs. Ginny stood up and told her mum, 'I'm just going to say goodbye to Harry.' and vanished from the room.

As Weasley stormed in and added his trunk to the pile, which had grown almost as tall as the ceiling in the small room, Mrs Weasley took down the box from the mantle and declared, 'All right, all right, Charlie is going to Apparate first, and once we get his Floo, you two can go on and Disapparate—Hermione, Ron, and Ginny'll go by Floo with the trunks—'

Charlie had disappeared with a _crack _just as Adeline leapt to her feet, calling 'Teddy!' Everyone looked up as she dashed across the room, braving the cluttered sea of trunks to attack herself to her brother's leg.

Theodore sighed before carefully pulling her off and holding her by the hand. Squatting down he whispered something in her ear and she bit her lip, but nodded obediently. Satisfied, Theodore looked up and approached Mrs Weasley, who stiffened as he drew close, but did not back away. Draco noticed there was still a slight limp to his walk—thought it was subtle, and he hid it well.

'I was wondering,' he said slowly, 'if you would be good enough to take my sister with you.'

Mrs Weasley blinked, apparently startled by the request. Theodore misread it as hesitation and continued, 'She's quiet, never makes a fuss, you honestly wouldn't even know she was there—'

'Oh—oh! No, no, I mean—of course, dear, if—if you really think—'

'I think it'd be best to have her as far away from me as possible during—' Theodore smiled, brief and viciously, his teeth flashing out the corner of his lips. 'Thank you. I appreciate it.'

Mrs Weasley offered her hand and, after looking longingly up at her brother for a moment, Adeline dropped his and accepted Mrs Weasley's, squeezing her doll protectively with her other arm.

Mrs Weasley beamed down at her. 'That's a good girl. Don't you worry, you can bring her along, too. I think Ginny's got some old dolls, too, that she doesn't want any more, if you like.' Adeline winced away from her voice as if she'd been scolded, but at least she hadn't started crying. Theodore seemed to take this as a good sign, nodded, and turned to return upstairs.

Just then the fireplace besides Draco roared and turned green due to an incoming Floo. Draco stood up and back away from the spitting flames, in which Charlie's head now sat.

'It's fine, Mum,' he said, coughing through the dust. 'Start tossing me the trunks, you can't carry all of those through.'

Deciding there was far too much activity in the room to stomach, Draco crept carefully back outside, skulking down the hallway towards the kitchen. He wasn't hungry, but knew where Tonks kept the Firewhisky stashed in the back cupboard, and definitely thought he could do with a drink. One could only take so many Weasleys in one day, after all.

Looking back on things, Draco really wished he'd had just gone back up to his room.

It would have been funny, Draco thought, if Mrs Weasley knew what her daughter had meant exactly when she said she was saying goodbye to her boyfriend. Draco personally felt he'd been scarred for life by the sight that greeted him when he opened up the kitchen door.

Potter was sitting on one of the many chairs around the kitchen table, and Ginny was right there in his lap, her thighs draped across his hips and held in place by his hands. Her hands, tangled in his hair and tugging insistently, hid most of the damage behind her forearms and her curtain of hair, for Draco could only see the _implication _of what that girl was doing to Potter's face, but the sounds alone were frankly more than enough to make him want to be sick all over the floor. One of Potter's hands was furtively sneaking up the inside of her shirt and Draco, horrified, cleared his throat as loudly as he could.

Potter whipped around in his seat just as Ginny jerked backwards, which was probably unwise, as it sent Potter and his chair toppling backwards onto the floor.

Over a string of colourful language from Potter, Ginny yanked her shirt down hard and glared at Draco. '_Jesus_, Malfoy, do you think it would _kill you_ to knock!?'

Draco folded his arms and regarded her coolly. 'Oh, sorry,' he drawled. 'Didn't realise that Headquarters for the Order doubled as a _Hôtel d'Amour_.'

'Fuck you, Malfoy,' Potter managed to hiss, climbing painfully to his feet.

'Kind of you to offer, but I see she's got that much covered already,' he replied, smirking at the colours Potter was turning.

Ginny, however, seemed surprisingly composed aside from the fact that she was furious. 'I don't see what _you_ can say about it, Malfoy, unless you're going to admit that Pansy Parkinson is really the tramp we all _know_ she is.'

Draco stiffened, but did not advance; this was a girl, after all, and Weasley or not, Draco was not raised to be a boor and he crushed his temper down. 'That's funny, coming from you,' he sneered instead, 'considering I'm willing to bet my broomstick your mother had no idea she had a slag for a daughter.'

The insult was barely out of his mouth before Potter was at his throat, wand drawn and looking murderous. 'You ever call her that again, Malfoy, and I swear to god—'

'You'll _what_?' Draco scoffed, smirking at him. 'I wonder if you've told Weasley what the two of you get up to—though, by the fact that he hasn't _killed_ you yet, presumably not. Some way to repay his trust, if you ask me, taking advantage of his little sister when he's not looking.'

'Piss _off_, Malfoy,' Ginny hissed. 'It's none of your bloody business, what I do or what I don't, and whether or not my brothers know about it. Come on, Harry,' she said, her tone changing as she spoke to her boyfriend, pulling his wand hand down by the wrist and clasping it in her own. 'He's just trying to get a rise out of you. Ignore him.'

'Notice she didn't correct me,' Draco pointed out, a gleeful bubble of satisfaction swelling under his diaphragm as Potter, who had turned away, stiffened. 'I wonder, did she even tell you about her little tryst with Pucey? I know they tried to keep it clandestine, what with the House-wars and everything, she even started dating Thomas so nobody'd suspect—'

'Shut the fuck up, Malfoy!' Ginny screeched, rounding on him. Potter looked between the two of them, furious at Draco but too curious just the same to stop him.

'Ooh,' Draco taunted, getting into stride, 'so who's given me a rise, now? You broke poor Adrian's heart, you know, he was convinced he was _so _in love with you, even with every one in Slytherin telling him what a tramp _you _were. Can't say I'm sorry he finally figured you out, though, I was really quite sick of hearing about some of the things the two of you would do—'

'That's _enough_, Malfoy!' Potter snapped, who was apparently not _that_ curious. 'It's none of your fucking business, what she does, or what I do, so do us both a favour and just fuck off.'

Ginny started to talk but Potter cut her off with a look, a look that reminded Draco of the sort his father had frequently used to quell insubordination, and said, 'Forget it, I don't _want_ to know, let's just go.'

Ginny hugged her forearms against her sides and glared harshly at Draco before disappearing out the door and up the stairs, Potter following quickly without a backward glance, and slamming the door.

Draco, humming contently, sashayed over to the cupboard—then, deciding he no longer required the whisky to calm his nerves, summoned a pitcher of pumpkin juice instead.

- - -

**Notes**:

_Hôtel d'Amour_ – French term for a 'Love Hotel', an anonymous, short-stay hotel for the purpose of allowing couples privacy to have sexual intercourse.

_Pucey_– Adrian Pucey, a Slytherin Chaser listed in the lexicon. He's listed to have started Hogwarts in either 1989 or 1990; for the purpose of this fic, it'd be 1990, which would put him in his seventh year during HBP.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

_Never go to bed mad. Stay up and fight._  
-Phyllis Diller

'So,' Draco said, sitting on the edge of the bench. Potter was across the other side of the table, leaning both hands on the top and glaring at him. 'With the Weasley Mother gone—'

'Don't call her that.'

'—what are we supposed to eat?'

Potter blinked at him. 'Er. I dunno.' He thought for a moment, then asked, 'Can you cook?'

Draco stared at him. 'Potter, recent meals aside,_ house-elves_ have cooked every single meal I've ever eaten.'

'Oh. Um.' Potter glanced at the small, metal trunk that served as the icebox in the corner. 'Leftovers?'

'With that army eating, there's no such thing,' Draco said, rolling his eyes. 'Can _you _cook?'

'Er...' Potter frowned. 'Not really. My aunt always made me watch the food, she never let me _cook_it—look, there's got to be something here, just cereal or something—'

'Cereal is _breakfast_ food, Potter.'

'Well then bloody go hungry,' Potter snapped, losing his patience. 'The moon's rising soon anyway, we don't have time to cook. Just grab something and take it upstairs.'

Draco sighed and kicked open the icebox, lazily rifling through the stash of foods kept preserved inside. Lupin had already locked himself and Theodore in the master bedroom, which had apparently already been fortified from his previous stay in the house to accommodate his monthly transformation.

'It'll be safer,' Lupin had assured them, 'for him as well as you both, if I'm there with him. We can't risk giving him the potion yet, but at least one of us will have our heads.'

To which Draco asked, 'But won't he attack you if you're the only other thing in the room?' Lupin had shrugged. 'Then what?'

Lupin had just raised his eyebrows. 'Then I'll put him in his place.'

Draco had decided he really did not want to know any more about werewolves or their disturbing habits, and then had been terrified to learn that they'd be staying in Potter's room, just below the master bedroom with the two blood-bent monsters.

'It's got all sorts of protection on it, aside from just the ones on Headquarters,' Potter had vaguely explained with a shrug. 'And anyway, it has the portrait that can talk to Dumbledore, which is important.'

Draco was pulled back to the present with his rather pleasant discovery in the icebox. 'Ah-hah,' he declared, smirking. 'Dinner!'

Potter glanced over from the cupboard he'd been rifling through, and gave him a look. 'That's ice cream, Malfoy.'

'So?' Draco demanded, hugging the tub of _Butterbeer Swirl_ to his chest.

'You can't have just ice cream for dinner.'

'Says who? The werewolf? He'll be too busy howling at the moon to give a damn what we're having for dinner. Hell, they'll want _us _for dinner, if anything. If this is possibly my last meal on Earth, then dammit, I'll eat what I like.'

'Fine, shut up, I don't care, eat the stupid ice cream. I hope it gives you a stomach ache,' Potter said, exasperated and turning away. 'And nobody is going to get eaten,' he added after a moment.

'Famous last words, Potter.'

The trip upstairs was a quiet one. Draco had his ice cream and a large spoon, and Potter had seen the error of his ways and decided a few pumpkin pasties and a pack of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans would do him good. Draco flopped happily on his bed and flipped open the lid, disgruntled to find someone had already raided half the tub, but it probably saved him the stomach ache, so he didn't bother to complain.

Halfway through the remains of the ice cream, Draco felt like he'd swallowed a bucket of ice and decided to take a break before the cramping began to get unbearable. Instead, he'd taken to coating his spoon in the melting edges of the dessert and doing obscene things to the appliance with his tongue, waggling his eyebrows suggestively at Potter—who was rolling his eyes in a resigned sort of despair.

'That is really, truly disgusting, Malfoy,' Potter said, making a face.

Draco smirked and licked the cream off his upper lip. 'I doubt you'd say that if your little girlfriend learned how to do it.'

'Speaking of my girlfriend,' Potter said, probably in attempt to hide the rising colour of his cheeks, 'you need to watch your mouth about her.'

'Funny, I could tell her the same thing.'

Potter frowned. 'All right,' he said after a moment, surprising Draco. 'Fair enough. And for the record, I never thought that about Parkinson.'

Draco considered for a moment, then smirked. 'I wasn't lying, you know,' he said finally. 'About Pucey.' He paused as Potter tensed, eyes narrowing. 'Are you _sure _you don't want to know?'

'It's none of my business,' Potter said flatly. '_Or _yours, for that matter. I don't care.'

Draco was extremely pleased to see Potter fuming, but the victory was short-lived; above them, something gave a laboured, tortured cry and there was a _thump_ as if something large had collapsed above them. Draco's eyes moved to the uncovered window and discovered that the sky had started turning indigo already, and he wondered if the moon was visible on the other side of the house yet.

The noise from upstairs drifted off, and it was quiet for almost a minute, and then there was the same sound, only deeper, more ragged, and Draco felt himself shiver and didn't think it had anything to do with too much ice cream.

'Lupin said this'll be the worst part,' Potter said suddenly, when the noise had faded again. He had a distant look in his eyes, focused somewhere outside the window. 'The change, I mean.'

Draco nodded, absently; Lupin had taken them both aside separately, and likely to tell them the same thing:

'What ever you do, what ever you hear, or think you hear, you _must not leave that room_,' he'd told Draco in the most serious voice Draco had heard since the last time he'd seen his father. 'For your own safety, as well as Theodore's.'

Draco really didn't have any plans of leaving the room at all until the sun came back up. He'd already used the loo and had plenty to drink stashed under his bed, and the ice cream would hold until breakfast. Pulling off his outer clothes aside from a thin t-shirt and Tonks' jeans, he reclined in his bed, hoping to fall asleep before the worst of it.

He almost managed to get to sleep, and then realised it would have been a moot point anyway, because then Theodore started screaming.

'Jesus Christ,' Draco whispered, wincing.

Potter had his eyes closed, but Draco could see the line of his shoulders were pulled taut—Draco, similarly, found himself wedged into the corner of the walls his bed was against, pressing himself against the plaster so hard his shoulders were growing sore, and the sound seemed to almost reverberate through him. Theodore wasn't screaming like, a kid upset screaming, or his mother had died and he was angry screaming, or even a scared-shitless screaming—it was a pure, unadulterated _agony _screaming, the sort of sound that made you imagine, even feel, every ounce of torture that it was a result of.

In what was probably only a few minutes but felt like several hours, the screams changed. It was a slow, subtle change that Draco didn't notice at first, even with the sound coursing through him, but the vocalisations had slowly began to lose their familiarity. Slowly, surely changing, becoming more animal and less human, the low, agonised moans trailing off into deep, guttural snarls that made Draco think of deadly, red eyes and sharp white teeth hiding in dark places.

'Oi, Malfoy.'

Draco looked up and, somehow, managed to catch the bottle Potter had tossed at him from across the room. Draco stared at him, watching Potter dig out another bottle from a box he'd dragged out from under his bed. Draco turned the bottle over, looking at the label. He looked at Potter and raised an eyebrow.

'Takes the edge off,' Potter said, shrugging. 'It was Lupin's idea, believe it or not.'

Draco abandoned his ice cream and, twisting the top off the lager in his hand, gave him a half-hearted toast. 'Cheers.'

- - -

Draco finished off the lager, and it joined the other five empty bottles on the floor by his feet. There was a single candle lighting the room now, just by Potter's bed, and he could see a similar pile of empty bottles at the foot of it. He looked mournfully to the side and discovered he'd gone through the stash Potter had given him, but the crashing and murderous snarls in the room above were still making him wince.

'Toss another,' he said.

Potter squinted up at him. 'You had _six_, Malfoy.'

'And now I've got zero,' Draco informed him irritably. 'And I am still coherent. So toss another.'

Potter frowned. 'This is the last of it,' he said, holding up a bottle that was half-full of some amber-coloured liquor. 'At least without going back downstairs.'

'Give it here,' Draco insisted.

'Piss off,' Potter said. 'Just because you've gone through your lot like a sot doesn't mean you can nick mine.'

With a considerable effort, Draco focused on the fuzzy, dark blot that was Potter. 'Don't make me come over there and get it, Potter.'

Potter pfft'ed. 'As if you can even stand _up _after six.'

Not about to be undermined, Draco hauled himself to his feet. Albeit not very gracefully, but he made it to a standing position nonetheless. 'You were saying?'

'That you are a git,' Potter finished. 'One who intends to steal my brandy, and—oi,' Potter made a face as Draco collapsed beside him, nearly knocking him sideways, and snatched the bottle out of his hand. 'Prat. Piss off.'

'Cheers,' Draco said, and took a generous swallow. 'Eugh, this stuff tastes worse than the lager.'

'It was this or Firewhisky.'

'Firewhisky!' Draco exclaimed, keeping a forceful grip on the brandy that Potter attempted to reclaim. 'We have more Firewhisky? Why the hell am I drinking lagers when we have Firewhisky?'

'Because there was only one bottle, and I think it's Snape's,' Potter said irritably, finally wrenching the brandy bottle back. 'Ow. God, you're pointy. Budge over.'

'Sod off,' Draco snapped, taking the bottle back with a well-aimed snatch.

'You are such a fucking pushy bastard.'

'You forgot "good-looking".'

'I forgot "ferret-faced", you mean.'

'You also forgot to take that mop off your head.'

Potter, momentarily giving up the fight for the bottle, glared sideways at him. 'Is it like, an inherited impossibility for you to be civil?'

'With you?' Draco considered through another sip. 'I just enjoy being a pillock.'

Potter rolled his eyes, but didn't comment. Instead, he snatched the brandy back. Draco whined, disgruntled, and made a sorry attempt at recapturing it. Potter slapped his hand away, so Draco hit him, and next thing Draco knew, they were having an all-out brawl on the bed over the bottle.

Draco shortly lost said brawl when his head smacked into the wall with a loud _thud _and Potter wrenched away from him, and they both froze as the noise upset the fresh werewolf upstairs, and it gave a particularly nasty roar.

'Bugger,' Draco said, as Potter cursed. He sat up and touched his temple and winced; _oh, there'll be a bump there in the morning..._

'You all right?'

Draco blinked down at Potter, whose head was somehow now in his lap. So _that _was what that weight was. 'Er,' Draco said. 'I don't know.' He rubbed his head lightly until the throbbing died down to a steady pulse, then said, 'That can't be good, can it?'

Potter frowned and, after a long, mournful look at the bottle, handed Draco the brandy. 'That'll dull it either way.'

Draco snatched it away without hesitation. 'Hah, I am victorious!' he declared, then afterwards considered that it was a bit of a dorky thing for him to do, but decided he didn't care because he was the Winner and that was all that mattered.

Potter snorted. 'You can't say that until you've beaten me to the Snitch.'

Leave it to Potter to spoil the moment. 'I hate you,' Draco informed him.

'Sure you do,' Potter said, grinning.

'I do. I hate you like oil hates water. I hate you like Hippogriffs hate me. I hate you like Snape hates hygiene. I hate you like... like...' He paused, thinking—something that certainly required more effort than normal and slowed the process of communicating considerably—but his brain felt like it was sitting in a sauna wearing a very thick sweater, and nothing came to him.

'Like spiders hate Basilisks?' Potter suggested.

'Yes,' Draco agreed. 'And even more than that. I hate you like you hate me.'

'Hm.' Potter shrugged against his lap. 'I don't think I really hate you that much.'

Draco rolled his eyes again.

'What? I don't,' Potter said, narrowing his eyes. 'I think you're an arsehole. I think you're a spoilt little brat and treat people like scum when they don't deserve it. And I hate being _around _you—'

'Says the sod with his head in my lap.'

'—I just don't _hate_ hate you,' Potter finished, ignoring his comment. 'I mean, I thought I did. Before the whole thing,' he made a vague motion with his hands, 'in school, you know.'

'You mean when I didn't kill Dumbledore.'

'No,' Potter admitted. 'Before that. In the bathroom.'

There was a noteworthy pause. The phantom pain in his chest was back and Draco shifted slightly, while Potter's expression contracted, probably realising that that was perhaps not the best thing to talk about.

'Anyway,' Potter said quickly. 'What I mean is, I don't—'

'Hate me, yes, I heard you the first three times,' Draco snapped irritably. He didn't know why the conversation was making him feel as uncomfortable as it was; perhaps it was because he sort of understood, through the drunken haze, that it held some truth—for both of them. It's never been so much _hate _as a very rabid animosity. Or maybe it wasn't the subject making him uncomfortable at all, but the fact that Potter had a very big head and a mop of very messy hair that was feathering against his arm.

'I don't,' Potter said again, then sighed and closed his eyes.

'What would you call it then?'

'Very extreme dislike?' he offered, eyes still closed. His temple was resting against the crook of Draco's hip, and random wisps of black hair were tickling the inside of his elbow. Draco didn't answer him, and after a moment Potter said, 'Pass that brandy, would you?'

'You'll spill it on yourself like that.'

'Will not. Give it here.' Draco handed it to him, a bit grudgingly, and the movement caused his head to roll against Draco's stomach.

'You've got a big head,' Draco felt it necessary to inform him, and was mildly impressed that Potter managed to take a long swig without spilling it on himself—or his lap.

Potter didn't take the hint. 'You've got a very pointy noise.'

'And a big ugly scar on your block.'

'Too much what-not in your hair.'

'I can't believe _you _just had a go at _my_ hair,' Draco said, wrinkling his nose as he lightly ruffled the mop in his lap. 'Do you even _own_ a brush, Potter?'

'Wouldn't matter if I did,' Potter said, smirking. He looked odd, smirking with his eyes closed. 'Brushes never make a difference with my hair. Nothing does.'

Draco, whose hand was still tangled in said hair, squinted at him. 'Lies,' he declared—and intended to prove it. He frowned as the task turned out to be a lot trickier than he first considered, as Potter's hair absolutely refused to lie flat under his fingers.

Potter's smirk only grew the harder Draco tried, and snickered as Draco cursed and lightly thumped him in exasperation. 'Told you so.'

'Bugger that,' Draco said, going back at it. 'This won't be the end of me.'

'S'lost cause,' Potter warned him.

'Quiet, mortal.'

Potter snorted softly, but obliged. He leaned his head to the side, so his nose was all but pressing in Draco's hip, to give him better access. Potter's hair was longer than it looked—the strands were as long as Draco's fingers, at least—but it stuck up so much and was so thick that he didn't notice until he got his fingers tangled in it. And _tangled_ was accurate, because his fingers were constantly caught in little knots as he brushed through it with his fingers. By the time most of the knots were gone, Draco noticed that Potter's hair was, despite the mess, unusually soft. It was almost like running his hands through a girl's hair.

Draco paused and bit back a laugh at the image that prompted in his mind: Potter in pigtails. Dear God, alcohol was hazardous.

Still, Potter's hair was refusing to cooperate. Untangled and soft or not, it was still defying gravity in a very unsightly manner. Draco figured that he must have been too drunk to use his heavenly powers to correct it.

Potter grunted at the sudden lack of attention. Draco raised an eyebrow. 'What's that?'

'Why'd you stop?'

'I gave up. You are impossible, and so is your stupid hair.'

Potter made another noise, one that sounded like a cross between a gurgle and whinge. 'Don't.'

'Why?'

Potter shifted, burrowing his nose deeper into his hip. 'Felt good.'

Draco blinked, and considered that information very carefully before saying, 'What do I get out of it?'

Potter thought for a moment, then said, 'The rest of the brandy?'

'Deal.'

Potter handed him the bottle and, after a generous drink, Draco set his fingers back to work. He'd got the easy end of the deal, he reasoned; combing Potter's hair with his fingers was easy, mostly due to the fact that he played with his own hair enough for the movements to come naturally.

Potter sighed under the touch and sagged against his waist, occasionally twisting his head this way and that when Draco's fingers came to an area he was lying on. Draco started at the top, running his fingers through the fringe against his forehead and temples, and Potter jumped a bit when his thumb accidentally brushed against his scar.

'Sorry,' Draco said automatically.

'No, s'fine,' Potter murmured. 'Just—not used to it.'

Draco brushed it with his thumb again, deliberately now. Potter shivered, but not unpleasantly, and Draco decided that it was a rather alarming development and got back to work with his hair. He kneaded his fingertips against the temple before brushing the hair there back, tucking it behind his ear.

He nudged the hook of Potter's glasses he encountered there with his finger. 'Take these off.'

Potter wordlessly obeyed, blindly folding them and tossing them aside. Then he turned his forehead so it laid flat against Draco's abdomen, leaving the entire back and sides of his head exposed. Draco smirked, amused at how enthusiastic Potter was about it; it was like having a sleepy (if slightly drunk) puppy in his lap, begging to be pet. Well, who was he to deny? He had the brandy, anyway.

He smoothed the collar of Potter's shirt down so he could get his fingers under the hair at the base of his neck, and ran his fingers up the back of his scalp, letting his nails dig in a little; Potter groaned lightly, encouragingly, and Draco did it again, only now with both hands and letting his fingers branch out to get the backs of his ears. He felt Potter expel a hot breath out his nose into his shirt, sighing as he repeated the movement in varying degrees, earning more variously pleased noises as he works.

'Hell,' Potter said after a few minutes.

Draco smirked lazily and ran his thumb behind his ear, smoothing the skin there, while his other fingers rustled through the unkempt hair. 'Good?'

'Grungkh,' Potter said into his hip. Then, a bit breathless but more coherently, 'God. Yes.'

Draco decided that, alarming or not, he was a bit tempted by the power he suddenly felt over Potter; to make Potter feel that way was like exerting a control over him Draco had never possessed before. He started at the base of Potter's neck again, really digging his nails in, and then Potter let out a sound that sounded far too close to a muffled moan into his stomach.

Oh, bother, Draco thought. We are _not _going there.

Potter swallowed against his hip, but didn't protest when Draco's ministrations lost most of their fervour, lightly rifling through the strands, smoothing the random bits that kept popping up defiantly. A few moments of sleepy silence passed by that way, until Potter suddenly rolled onto his back so that his head was now on Draco's thigh. He looked up at Draco, took him by the collar and gently but firmly pulled his head down. The angle was painful, and Potter's grip was so tight it choked him a bit.

'Potter,' he said, 'if backs were meant to be bent this way, blokes would be giving themselves blowjobs.'

Draco then had the realisation that perhaps now was not the appropriate time to mention blowjobs, or anything that had to do with that sort of idea, really, considering Potter's earlier reactions and how very close his face was to Draco's now.

Potter ignored his comment and held him there, just hair-breadths between their faces. Then he used his other hand to touch the back of Draco's neck and ran his fingers under the curtain of silky hair there, kneading and scraping similarly with his fingernails. Draco let out an involuntary gasp and his forehead dropped forward, hitting Potter's cheek.

'Told you,' he heard Potter murmur by his ear.

Bleakly, Draco nodded against his cheek, before shifting his legs out from under Potter's head—soon they were lying side-by-side instead, with Draco's head by Potter's hip and Potter's similarly vice-versa. He was lying on his stomach, and Potter continued to play with his hair, and Draco dimly wondered if that was a bad idea. It felt ridiculously good, and he had no issue admitting that—Harry Potter or not—he did not want the massage to stop; however, Draco also was aware that bad ideas frequently felt very good, and end up feeling a lot less good and much more awkward and embarrassing later.

The hell with it, he decided. He'd blame to booze; that's what they were for, after all—doing stupid shit one normally wouldn't, then not having to accept the responsibility or blame.

The wolves upstairs were fighting again; there was a difference between the two, one Draco could hear in both their snarls and their footsteps, one heavier and more controlled, another wild and blinded by rage. He could hear them slam against the walls, scramble to their feet, bound and leap from one end of the room to the other, so forcefully he was surprised it didn't rip the house apart. And then, a loud slam of something hitting—or being pinned—to the floor, and a puppy-like squeal, and then silence.

Potter's fingers sorted out the tangles in his hair, smoothed down the knots in the back of his neck, and Draco watched the moon slowly set as he finally drifted off to sleep.

- - -


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

_'It's better to know some of the questions  
than all of the answers.'_  
- James Thurber  
.

Draco wasn't sure when he fell asleep. The last thing he remembered were Potter's fingers kneading the skin at the back of his neck, accompanied by the occasional tug at the roots of his hair—_God, that'd felt good... _Draco smiled unconsciously into the duvet and twisted, trying to get more comfortable.

His knee encountered a hard object and the collision was instantly followed by, 'Ow! Fuck, Malfoy.'

The hard something turned out to be Potter's head. He was lying on his back, now propped up on his elbows and rubbing the side of his head with one hand. Draco twisted around some more to get a better look at him.

The first thing he thought was that Potter looked very odd without his glasses.

The second thing was, _thank the gods we're both fully dressed._

'Where the hell are my glasses?' Potter wondered aloud.

With a groan, Draco rolled over and sat up, and then immediately wished he hadn't; the hangover hit him like a Bludger, cracking his head in two and spilling his brain all over the wall behind. The sickness welled inside the back of his throat, and he took a moment to let his stomach adjust to being vertical and managed to swallow the acid back down. The ensuing burning in his oesophagus combined with the pulsing around his temples left him feeling distinctly awful; if the Dark Lord had leapt out of the wardrobe and killed him right then, it would have been a welcome relief.

Despite the feeling of just having Splinched himself, Draco forced himself to untangle from the sheets. There was something pointy sticking into his thigh.

'I think,' he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, 'I've sat on them.'

He pulled out the offending glasses and saw that he had, indeed, sat on them, and they'd been bent a bit funny. He dug in his pocket for his wand, tapped them swiftly, and they reverted back into their original shape. He handed them to Potter, who groped for a moment before cramming them back on his face.

'Thanks,' Potter said absently. Draco managed to swing his legs over the edge of the bed, and suddenly the answer to the throbbing in his forehead, the fingers in his hair, and the bed-sharing became clear. A large cluster of various liquor bottles—mostly lager, from the looks of it—were pooled around his feet.

Potter similarly swung his feet off the bed and looked down. 'Good lord.'

'I'm going to have a shower,' Draco declared, and attempted to stand up. It ended up being a rather silly idea, and his arse reconnected with the mattress as gravity tugged him back down.

Potter snorted and stood with ease, stretching. Draco glowered at him—of course, Harry Potter was too bloody _perfect _to submit to normal things like hangovers. He yawned and offered Draco a hand; Draco wrinkled his nose.

'Oh, get out of it,' Potter said. 'You'll give my a head massage but you won't take a hand up?'

Draco frowned at him. 'You remember that?'

'I always remember,' Potter said, shrugging. 'I've tried drinking to forget, believe me.'

Annoyed but resigned, Draco took his hand. He stared at it for a moment, studying the spectacle that was their hands gripping one another, and wondered why something so trivial could piss him off so much. Potter pulled him to his feet before he could decide to pull away, however, and Draco staggered into a standing position, shoving Potter away with as much force as one dizzy with a hangover could manage without falling over.

He wavered for a moment, finding his centre of gravity, then before Potter could decide to comment further on the absurdity of the night before, declared again: 'Right. _Shower_.'

As he walked—slowly, but steadily—over to the door, Potter called out sarcastically behind him, 'You're welcome.'

Draco made a rude hand-gesture without turning around, slamming the door on his way out.

- - -

As far as Draco was concerned, the events of last night were all an evil ploy conceived by Potter, who was apparently a closet homosexual and had used the excuse of an empty house save for two werewolves in an attempt to swindle his innocence. He could probably blame the acquired taste on his sire, as Potter—much like his father, from what Draco had heard—seemed to have a weakness for the extraordinarily attractive, if Chang and her dead boyfriend were anything to go by. His little scarlet woman wasn't harsh on the eyes either, if Draco were going to be fair about it. So it was probably just his natural Malfoy beauty that had Potter so desperately trying to hoodwink him.

Draco studied his reflection in the steam-glazed window, and found himself smirking.

All right, he thought, that may have been a _bit_ of an exaggeration, but it was still all Potter's fault nonetheless.

Out of his own clean clothes and having no house-elves to do his laundry, Draco had lacked the foresight to plan what was to be done once said shower was finished. He vaguely recalled seeing Tonks' jumper hanging half-out of a wardrobe upstairs in the room she shared with Lupin and, wrapping himself in a bathrobe he found in the closet, crept out into the hall and quickly jogged up the stairs. Sprinting over the last step he nearly impaled himself on the handlebar of the motorbike he'd uncovered on his first trip to this room; it had been moved into the hall, sans the canvas cover, and the chrome winked at him through the feeble sunlight filtering in through the window.

Suddenly, Draco remembered _why _he and Potter had turned to the booze the night before, and pressed the door to the master bedroom open as quietly as he could.

Lupin was no longer in the room—the _room_, which Draco saw, in an awestruck stupor, was in complete disarray. There were long, gouging claw-marks in every surface his eyes could see, scraps of parchment, clothing, wood, and glass strewn haphazardly around the floor. Feathers decorated disembodied pillows, making the bed look like it had served as a sacrificial altar for an entire coop of hens.

The large clump of strangled, torn blankets and sheets beneath the gutted pillows stirred and emitted a drawn-out groan.

'Oh, god,' came the ragged moan. 'Please tell me you've come to kill me.'

Draco gave the lump a cautious, gentle prod with his wand. It growled back, but weakly and without much conviction. Pulling the blankets back gingerly, Draco uncovered a completely naked, filthy Theodore that was half caked in dust and half caked in dried blood. Similar claw marks to those on the wardrobes and floor adorned his back and shoulders, and the back of his neck boasted a deep bite wound. Draco dropped the bloody sheets in alarm.

'Kill you? Merlin, you already look dead.'

'I also feel dead,' Theodore noted, either unwilling or unable to move, despite his indecency. It wasn't like it mattered, anyway; he'd shared a room with Theodore long enough to see his body transform from that of a boy into a man's, and even so, the seriousness of the situation seemed to negate any self-conscious that Theodore may have had otherwise.

'Did he do—' Draco made a vague gesture at the wounds, unable to finish the question.

Theodore winced but shook his head. 'No—well, yes—but it's not what you think,' he added quickly, then grabbed his throat and pinched his eyes tightly together. 'I think I'm going to be sick.'

To his credit, he wasn't, but after Theodore recovered from the nausea and rolled into an upright position so that he was facing Draco, Draco stepped back with a start, eyes wide.

'What?' he rasped.

Draco blinked. 'I think you need to see this for yourself, mate.'

Very, very carefully, Draco helped him up, his shoulder becoming a makeshift crutch under Theodore's arm and carefully avoiding all of his many ghastly wounds or areas that would impugn his dignity. They limped over to the wardrobe together, which Draco opened with a quick flick of his wand, exposing the slightly cracked, full-length mirror inside the door.

'Sweet bloody Hippogriffs,' Theodore said, staring.

Where there had once been the body of a stringy, sharp-angled teenager there was now a lean, hardened form that looked like it could have belonged to a martial artist. It didn't look ridiculous or even particularly out of place, unless, like Draco, one had seen that Theodore had never been anything more than a long-limbed and somewhat malnourished excuse for a bloke.

Theodore, still staring stupidly at his reflection, gave his stomach a cautious prod with his fingertips. 'Well,' he said eventually, grinning a bit sheepishly. 'He _did_ say there were perks.'

- - -

When Lupin had handed Theodore a plate of meat and eggs for breakfast (accompanied by a tall glass of milk), he didn't wrinkle his nose or ignore it like he had the morning before. It took three solid helpings and an extra glass before Theodore finally shook his head, unable to eat any more without regurgitating the first three rounds. Still put off by the smell of dirt and blood from that morning, Draco stuck to cold cereal and ate quickly. Potter kept shooting him looks and Draco wasn't sure if it was due to the night before, the tousled state of his hair, or the fact that the only unmauled clothes he'd been able to find were a pair of severely faded jeans with a tear in one knee and a thin white t-shirt that was the sort of transparent material one saw on wet, busty witches in questionable magazines.

Despite the appetite, Theodore seemed to be still suffering from the previous night. His movements were slow and careful, and even still, he kept sporadically exhibiting loss of motor control—his hands shook, or his wrists refused to bend, or his elbow would give a funny jerk—symptoms which, Lupin assured them, were all a result of the fact that his body just suffered a major change and was still adjusting, and would cease once he'd had a few lunar cycles under his belt. Draco idly wondered if Lupin had the lithe body of a panther beneath the shabby robes, then decided for the benefit of his own health he never wanted to find out.

Draco shoved his dishes in the sink and made a quick break for upstairs—and he nearly made it, but then he heard the door below him opened and closed again.

'Hey, Malfoy!'

Against his better judgement, Draco paused on the stairs but did not look back. He said nothing.

He could hear Potter climb a few stairs, then hesitate and stop. 'Er, about last night—'

'There is nothing about last night worth the breath to discuss it,' Draco interrupted curtly.

Potter didn't reply immediately, and Draco took another step before he tried again. 'I didn't mean—Look. I don't like being stuck here with you any more than you do. But we sort of got along last night and it's nice _not _to have a headache every time we're both in the same room, so—I dunno. I guess I just want to make sure we're all right.'

'All right?' Draco did turn around then, expression and voice dripping with contempt. '_All right?_ That's implying that we were all right _before_ last night, Potter, which—'

And then the doorbell rang from the hall upstairs, interrupting him, and the portrait began wailing. Draco turned and trotted up the stairs with Potter on his heals, and wrenched the front door open while Potter slammed the curtains shut on Mrs Black.

The sun from earlier had vanished; it was overcast once more, and drizzling. Draco found his gaze even with hooded, brown eyes that looked distinctly annoyed.

'Oh, it's _you_,' Zacharias Smith said, at length, but not sounding particularly surprised or concerned at all. Draco was, unwillingly, deeply impressed with the tone of his drawl.

Potter appeared at his shoulder and Draco could practically feel him vibrating with indignation. 'What the hell are you doing here?' he demanded. 'How did you get—'

'Hullo to you, too,' Zacharias interrupted, shoving between them both. 'Mind if I come in? It _is _raining, you know.'

Draco and Potter exchanged looks, and Draco experienced a brief epiphany; he suddenly had competition for his prized Potter's Most Annoying Person In My Perfect Life position.

'This is an ugly house,' Zacharias went on behind them, dropping his trunk on the floor as Draco closed the door. 'And it smells old. And these people are ugly, too,' he added, scanning the uncovered portraits. 'Are you _related_ to these people, Potter? Certainly would explain a lot...'

'Excuse me,' Potter said shortly. 'But d'you mind telling me what in the _hell—_'

Sighing dramatically, Zacharias shoved an envelope under his nose to interrupt once more. 'I can't be bothered to explain, it's all in there anyway.' Potter snatched the envelope and tore it open, while Zacharias took one more look around before stopping to face them once more, arms folded over his chest. 'So, Malfoy. Fancy seeing you here.'

Draco raised an eyebrow. 'Why's that?'

Zacharias shrugged. 'Everyone at Hogwarts thinks you're dead.'

'_What_?'

'S'what the Prophet is saying, anyway.'

'Why do they think I'm_ dead?'_

'Dunno, didn't bother reading much about it,' Zacharias said distractedly.

Before Draco could make the indignant protest bubbling up inside of him, Potter looked up from the letter in his hands. 'Wait, it's just you? But the letter says—'

The doorbell sounded again, and Mrs Black's portrait resumed its wailing. Zacharias seemed thoroughly amused by the spectacle of Potter attempting to stranglehold the curtains and force them closed; Draco, rolling his eyes, opened the door again.

This time, the meeting eyes were grey and protuberant. 'Well, hello. I'm happy to see you aren't dead.'

Luna Lovegood, Susan Bones, Terry Boot, and a young boy of about ten or eleven whom Draco did not know all peered curiously at him, as if expecting him to keel over and die at any moment. Draco scowled and stepped away from the door and they hurried inside, dragging their various bags and trunks in with them.

'Hi, Harry,' said Luna, wiping the rain off her forehead. 'Did Zacharias give you Dumbledore's letter?'

Potter nodded curtly and looked them over. 'Is this everyone?'

'So far,' Terry Boot said. He gave Draco and then the inside of the entry hall a brief once-over. 'So this is it, huh?'

Potter didn't answer; he was looking curiously at the small boy, who was hiding behind Terry. Terry stepped aside and put a hand on his shoulder. 'Adam, my cousin,' he explained. 'He was staying with us for the summer, luckily.' Adam edged back behind his cousin, shooting Potter a terrified look.

'I'm cold,' Susan Bones said, rubbing her shoulders and shivering; rainwater dribbled down her thick plait into a small puddle on the floor that they had formed. 'Do you have somewhere we can like, change?'

Potter looked a bit lost for a moment, but nodded quickly. 'Yeah, um. Upstairs. You lot can just pick a room, it doesn't matter.'

Susan, Terry and his cousin went up the stairs, followed by Luna, who drifted slowly along behind. Zacharias, however, stayed behind, much to the annoyance of Potter.

'I'm hungry,' he declared. 'Where's the kitchen?'

'Why are _you _here?' Potter demanded rudely, ignoring the question. 'I understand the others—but you're pure-blood, and your family hasn't been targeted. And anyway, didn't your mum pull you out school because she didn't want her little boy getting involved with the "_wrong people_"?'

Zacharias' pompous demeanour vanished. He glared coldly at Potter. 'You know, just because they call you for what you are, Potter, doesn't excuse you from keeping up with current events in the _Prophet_.'

'What are you talking about? What's happened?'

'People have died,' he said scathingly, pulling out a worn-looking article and throwing it down on the floor at Potter's feet. 'That's what happens in war, didn't you know?'

Apparently changing his mind about food, Zacharias turned and followed the path the others had taken upstairs. Potter picked up the article and scanned it quickly. 'Oh, hell,' he said. Draco raised an eyebrow. 'The Creeveys are missing.'

'Both of them?'

'The whole family,' Potter said, eyes still on the article. 'We're both listed as "whereabouts unknown", too. So's Blaise Zabini.'

Draco knew Blaise, of course, but Blaise had never been particularly bothered with any of them, preferring to mingle with the older students. He shrugged half-heartedly. 'His mother probably smuggled him out of the country.'

Potter frowned after a moment. 'I don't get it,' he said, looking up as Draco moved closer to peer over his shoulder at the list. 'I mean, I knew a lot of those people, too. But I don't see any Smiths on the list.'

The list was divided into two columns: those missing, and those confirmed dead; the latter of which usually included most or all members of the family. There weren't any Smiths, though, but Draco noticed that there were other students' names that he recognised under the column of confirmed deaths—Anthony Goldstein, Cormac McLaggen, Su Li, and...

'Potter,' Draco said, snatching and then staring at the list. 'Finch-Fletchley is dead.'

Potter nodded. 'Yeah, I saw. I didn't know him very well.' He paused, and suddenly looked up when he realised Draco was staring at him dubiously. 'Did you?'

Draco stared at him, disbelieving that he and Potter had attended the _same school_ as he did for six years running.

'Smith is in our year, idiot,' Draco told him, shoving the article back at a bewildered looking Potter. 'He and Finch were best mates.'

Potter continued to stare at him, but Draco saw the comprehension dawn. There wasn't time for him to acknowledge it, however, because the doorbell rang again.

'I thought that was _it_,' Potter hissed, annoyed, slamming the curtains around Mrs Black closed again. Draco rolled his eyes and opened the door, wondering what colour eyes awaited him this time.

The eyes, as it turned out, were narrowed and dark, bottomless pits of contempt that looked even more annoyed than Smith's. Draco had to contain the toddler-ish urge to hug him.

'Mr Malfoy,' Snape said, looking past him. 'Potter.' He practically spat the word, and looked back to Draco. 'I see you haven't managed to poison him yet,' he said. 'Pity.'

Draco immediately moved aside to give Snape room to enter, and stepping back he bit his tongue. Snape was leaning heavily on a cane, and when he stepped over the threshold, it was with a well-pronounced limp. Draco saw Potter open his mouth as if to make a rude retort, then close it. He looked at Draco, who gave him the deadliest glare he could manage, daring him to say a word.

'Have the other children arrived?' Snape demanded as Draco closed the door again—hopefully, for the last time. He half-expected the doorbell to ring again while Potter opened his mouth once more to answer, seemed unable to find the words, and settled for nodding. Snape appeared to enjoy this version of Potter, the simple absence of his insolent voice seemed to ease the harsh lines in Snape's face.

'They're upstairs,' Draco added. 'Well, except Theodore, he's down in the kitchen with Lupin.'

'Nott?' Snape asked, bemused. Draco suddenly realised he'd been hospitalised for the entire incident—and if Dumbledore hadn't mentioned it to him by now, he wouldn't know about—

'Professor,' answered a voice at the end of the hall.

The three of them looked up to see Theodore standing outside the door to downstairs, Lupin closing it quietly behind both of them. Snape took one look at the bruise on his left cheek, the long, scabbing mark over his right eye and wound on the side of his neck, and he _knew_. Draco could see the revelation in his eyes, cold fury boiling in the black pits, his lips forming a scowl and the harsh lines re-embedding themselves in his face.

'Lupin,' Snape said curtly, his eyes never leaving Theodore, who was now looking less like a stringy wolf and more like a cornered rabbit. 'A word.'

Draco and Theodore both winced slightly at the tone of his voice, Draco unable to comprehend how Potter and Lupin stood there and took the full force of it. That tone reminded Draco severely of his father's commanding tone, the one he used when he was in public and indifferent with Draco or, worse, alone and furious. Lucius had never needed to raise his voice to terrify Draco, only to change his tone—it cracked the air like a whip and made him want to cower and cover his head with his hands until the storm blew over.

Lupin strode over to Snape, right through the hurricane his voice had formed in the air, albeit cautiously, into the calm centre in which Snape stood—_leaned_—and waited, fuming. 'Of course,' he said, turning his gaze briefly to look at Potter and Draco in turn. 'Could you two go help the others settle in?'

'Sure,' Potter said, sounding as eager as Draco was to get away.

Theodore, unfortunately, had not been given permission to leave; he watched their footsteps longingly as they retreated upstairs, and Draco idly wondered how scary Severus Snape really could be, if he could manage to cow two werewolves with the mere fluctuation of his voice.

- - -


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

'That boy is fifteen! _Fifteen_!'  
'Well, the Jeep's only six months old, and you just fucked _it.'_  
_- QaF, Brit-style  
.  
_

'He_ what_?'

Theodore looked distinctly uncomfortable. Draco distinctly didn't care. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He tried again:

'He_ what_?'

'God, just forget it,' Theodore said in exasperation, rolling his eyes at great length.

Draco stared at him in disbelief. 'That's not something you generally just "forget"!'

'I don't see why it's such a big deal.'

'Big deal! _Big_ doesn't even begin to cover it. The man is a paedophile!'

Theodore gave him a pointed look. 'I was seventeen last May, idiot.'

'All right, sorry, the man is a _borderline _paedophile!'

Theodore rolled his eyes again. 'Not _everything _in this world is perverse, you know.'

Draco thought about this, and decided that, all things considered, _most_ things in the world could be taken in one perverse form or the other. But that wasn't the point.

'It just sounds dodgy,' he said, shaking his head. '_Way_ dodgy. Like, report-it-to-your-Professor-dodgy.'

'Snape was there, too,' Theodore said, shrugging. 'So, like I said, it's not that big a deal. Unless, of course, you think they're _both _borderline paedophiles. But anyway, that was the last night, so I don't have to worry about it for another month. He reckons I could handle it on my own, if I start taking the Wolfsbane right away.'

Draco folded his arms and fumed. He was very protective of his fellows; they were _his_, as far as he was concerned, and therefore investments worth defending. He did not like the idea of grubby werewolf paws all over one of his respective Slytherins, no matter what the reason.

The wounds Theodore had sported that morning had already begun to fade, leaving him looking rather like a worn and re-stitched doll. Snape may have supervised the physical, but physicals were supposed to be preformed by certified _Healers_, not strange adults, even ex-Professors. Certainly they couldn't take Theodore to St Mungo's without them registering him as a werewolf and therefore putting his life at considerable stake, but _still_.

Draco decided the conversation was a lost cause; obviously, Theodore enjoyed being man-handled by strange men (and werewolves), and that was his business, so long as Draco never, ever had to hear about it again.

Of course, it was his own fault for asking, but he'd know better next time.

'Right. Well. That was educational. So where are you sleeping, now?'

Theodore shrugged. 'Dunno, we're sort of running low on space, aren't we?'

With Terry and his cousin in the study downstairs, Potter in his room, Smith in the one across from it, and the girls in the room on the first floor, this was very true. Lupin was going to stay with Tonks and her family, leaving Snape the master bedroom (something Potter was less than pleased about, especially considering Snape refused to house the motorbike in his quarters under any circumstances whatsoever).

'I already tried getting Potter and Smith in the same room,' Draco told him. 'Potter said he'd rather share with _me_, which, of course, is not acceptable by any means, but Smith wouldn't budge either.'

Theodore looked thoughtful. 'I could split with Smith,' he said, shrugging. At the look on Draco's face, he laughed. 'All right, all right, I don't care. Are you sure Potter won't mind sharing since I'm a, well, you know?'

'I really couldn't give a damn,' Draco said shortly.

- - -

Zacharias Smith looked up from his trunk and its contents when Draco opened the door and walked into the room without any warning.

'Most people knock, Malfoy.'

'Most people are polite,' Draco pointed out, dropping his trunk on the floor and giving it a kick up against the side of his bed.

Zacharias, surprisingly, smirked and went back to sorting his schoolbooks. 'Fair enough.'

Draco changed out of his day clothes quickly, shoving his trunk under the bed with one foot as he finished, and dropped backwards on to the bed. Zacharias was already in a pair of pyjama bottoms and a thin t-shirt, still bent over the trunk on his bed and organising the contents. Draco watched him quietly, wondering why in the two days since he'd arrived, he'd yet to breathe a word about Finch-Fletchley.

'Have you lot gotten your Hogwarts letters yet?' Zacharias asked without looking up.

'No,' Draco said through a yawn. 'Why?'

Zacharias sighed and slammed his trunk closed without answering. Kicking it off his bed, he twisted under the covers of his bed and rolled over to face the wall. 'You using that light?'

Draco pulled out his wand and uttered '_Nox_,' extinguishing the lamp in the room. Settling down, the only sound was that of their breathing, his own relaxed and slowly lulling into sleep, and Zacharias', laboured and irregular. The pattern was so irregular that it kept Draco awake just listening to it; he slowly rolled over onto his back, and thought very, very carefully about his words before he spoke.

'Brooding over it won't do you any good,' he said finally. He heard a pause in the breathing, and continued, 'I've got a some Draught left over, if you want it.'

Zacharias was quiet for a moment, his breathing suddenly very shallow. 'Yeah,' he said finally, rolling into a sitting position. 'Thanks.'

- - -

Something dodgy was happening in that room.

Draco didn't notice it the first day; or perhaps he did, but passed it off as nothing and forgot about it later. But by the fifth day since the night of the last full moon, it was clear to him that something was _off_.

He couldn't put his finger on what, except that it had something to do with Theodore and Potter and the fact that, despite Ernie MacMillan, Jake Bradley and Dean Thomas showing up over the next few days and increasingly crowding Headquarters, none of them were sharing the room. Bradley and MacMillan had gone to occupy the floor in with Terry and his cousin, while—much to Draco's chagrin—Thomas had opted for a rickety cot erected in the room he and Zacharias were sharing.

Draco had taken one up-turned nose look at him and muttered something rather rude about a Mudblood being unwelcome in pure-blood territory, and Dean had given him chafed look and said, 'You know, when you do that, you're no better than the Muggles that call me a nigger.'

Being compared to petty Muggles was not something Draco Malfoy was used to, especially when, after long and laborious consideration, he couldn't deny the parallel.

Zacharias had saved him replying. 'Shouldn't you be across the hall with your House prodigy?'

Dean had snorted derisively and adopted a very nasty look. 'If I have to spend one more minute looking at that pillock, I'm going to punch him in the head.'

While MacMillan and Bradley seemed all right with Potter, they seemed less all right with Theodore, whom everyone—aside from Draco, Snape and Potter—was giving a wide berth. Theodore didn't seem to mind particularly; in fact, he spent more of the day locked away in that room with Potter than he did anywhere else in the house.

Draco found this behaviour completely unacceptable. More time with a Gryffindor—Potter, of _all_ people—than his own Housemates? It was sacrilege!

When he'd confronted Theodore about this, he'd given Draco a dubious sort of look and said, 'Malfoy, since when have I given a damn what you think?' and left Draco standing there in the hall with his mouth wide open, gaping like a lost fish.

'Who cares?' Zacharias said when, in desperation, Draco tried to confide his concerns with someone. 'Let's hope Nott gets wolfish one night and eats him.'

The worst was yet to come, but he wouldn't realise it until later in the afternoon. With Headquarters acting as a sort of refugee camp for targeted students and their immediate family, there was no extra room to hold the Weasleys, to which Draco was very thankful. Still, it was the last day of July and school (and more importantly, his own dorm) were that much closer. It was shaping up to be a rather good day, he thought, as he had the rather pleasant experience of running upstairs with intent to bathe and nearly walking into Susan Bones, who was disembarking the bathroom in wake of her own shower in nothing more than a short, form-fitting towel.

'Erk,' Draco said abruptly, raising his eyes well above her chin with immense difficulty. 'Ah—morning.'

Susan, with her wet, dark hair clinging to her shoulders, offered him a nervous smile and disappeared down the stairs without a word.

Draco closed the bathroom door behind him; the flowery scent of her cosmetics still clung to the heavy, humid air. He allowed himself a smirk, remembering the blush colouring her cheeks.

Maybe this summer wouldn't be too bad, after all.

- - -

With Mrs Weasley and Lupin gone, and Snape more of a foreboding presence in the attic than a supervising adult, the children were left to fend for themselves in respect to food. Susan had risen to the task magnificently, and the others alternated nights assisting her, mostly serving as pot-stirrers and dish-washers while she waved her wand around the kitchen. It wasn't the same calibre as the Weasley mother's entrées, but it was certainly better than cold leftovers.

'Your turn tonight, Malfoy,' she said in a flourish, but did not look him in the eye.

Looking up from his book, Zacharias caught his eye briefly and raised his eyebrows; Draco thought perhaps his smirk told too much, and quickly removed it before following her down to the kitchen.

Whatever intentions he had involving the two of them alone in the kitchen were quickly dismissed. No sooner had he entered the room did he find himself surrounded on all sides by pots and bowls and raw ingredients whizzing in the air, to-and-from the bench at which Susan had begun organising them in various combinations.

'You need to keep the flame under that at medium and stir it counter-clockwise for the first ten minutes, then twice clockwise, then back again—' She looked around to see Draco staring blankly at her. 'You know how to make a Pepper-Up potion?' He nodded. 'Okay, it's the same thing, only with different ingredients. And keep an eye on that skillet, while you're there.'

He did that for ten minutes before she asked for help getting a heavy sack of sugar off the top shelf. 'I'm still a bit rough with heavy things,' she admitted. He handed it to her, his fingers brushing her wrist; she smiled at him and had him set the table before sending him upstairs to get the others. At the top of the stairs he encountered Adam, Terry's cousin, and sent him to ring the dinner bells instead.

The whole lot of them had just trudged downstairs and taken their seats when the doorbell rang. Draco, Zacharias, Dean, Potter, and Theodore all managed simultaneous 'Not it's and, rolling his eyes, Terry said, 'I'll get it.'

Snape wasn't at the meal, nor was he ever; Draco was beginning to wonder if he ate at all. He managed to secure a seat between Susan and Zacharias while staying as far away from Potter and the Slytherin Traitor as possible. Luna had taken a seat beside Adam, who looked terrified of the way she managed to go through her entire helping without a blink. Draco was quite content with accidentally brushing his knee against Susan's thigh (she blushed but kept her eyes on her plate) while he ate, when a sudden surge of noise from above caused a wave of dread to wash over him.

The noise thundered down the stairs and burst into the kitchen, headed by the Weasley Twins.

'Well, well, well!' clapped the one in the lead. 'Aren't you a sorry lot of vagrants!'

Draco froze; beside him, Zacharias stiffened similarly, eyeing the twins with suspicion. They were quickly followed by Weasley, his mother, Granger, and Ginny, however, all of which were grinning broadly.

'Happy birthday, Harry dear,' Mrs Weasley said once everyone had squeezed into the kitchen. She plopped a heavy cake with chocolate icing on the table. 'And hello to the rest of you!'

'Told ya we'd make it,' Ginny said smartly, sidling up beside Potter's seat and giving him a nudge.

Potter returned the grin, but it disappeared when he looked at Theodore and found him glaring menacingly at her.

'I think I'm going to have an early night,' Draco declared, dropping his fork. Zacharias glared briefly at Weasley and Granger, muttered, 'Ditto,' and stood up with him—he was almost immediately followed by Theodore, both of them ignoring the triumphant looks of the surrounding Weasleys. After another moment, Dean dropped his utensils and joined them.

'Are you sure you won't stay?' Mrs Weasley asked as they squeezed their way around the table. 'I made plenty for the lot—'

She paused and pursed her lips in disapproval as Draco gouged the cake with a finger, picking off a sizeable chunk of icing and sticking it in his mouth on his way out. 'Yeah,' he said, licking his finger clean. 'We're sure.'

- - -

'I'm going to stick my wand in my ear if they keep that up,' Zacharias muttered miserably.

Draco, silently, agreed. He did not have anyone to complain to directly, as Theodore had gone back to his own room, leaving Draco with the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. The _Weird Sisters_ that had been blasting through the floor was bad enough; Celestina Warbeck was more than he was willing to take. When the music finally moved on to _The Randy Red Caps_, even Dean looked suicidal.

'I can't take it anymore,' he declared, and Draco briefly entertained thoughts of hara-kari until Dean began digging into his trunk with earnest, throwing his robes and books this way and that until, with a note of triumph, held something the approximate size and shape of a dragon egg above his head. It was silver and black and had many buttons and funny markings upon it, but whatever it was, Zacharias seemed to know what it was, because he was suddenly grinning.

'You are the Saviour,' Zacharias declared in a worshipping tone. 'Please tell me you have that Muggle metal music.'

'What do you take me for?' Dean said, scoffing. 'What's better is Hermione showed me a spell to keep the batteries charged with magic, so they never run out.'

Draco did not pretend to be a scholar of music, but he was pretty sure the properties of metal couldn't be applied to sound. He also had no idea what a battery was, but supposed it had something to do with this madness. 'How can you have _metal _music?' he asked, half-laughing.

They both ignored him, to which Draco felt very much affronted. He was about to protest when Dean stuck a shiny, flat disc into the top of the metal egg and pressed a button, and the room exploded with noise.

Exploded was the right word, too, he thought, wincing. The music—if you could call it that—was so loud it was impossible to discern _what _was being played, much less the instruments themselves. There was something reminiscent of a voice screaming along with the noise, but it was so obnoxiously noisy that he could scarcely tell it apart from the blaring, grinding, screeching garble that made up the music. He clapped both hands over his ears in an attempt to save his hearing, but it blew right through.

'Well,' Zacharias yelled, standing up and coming over to collapse on his bed; Draco glared at him. 'At least we can't hear _The Randy Red Caps_ anymore.'- - -

Around ten o'clock, Draco slipped out into the hallway and closed the door tightly behind him. They had been playing the music for _hours _and although it was easier than listening to any of the crap coming through the floor from downstairs, his head had started buzzing and in the quiet of the hall, his ears were ringing. The music was muffled somewhat behind the door, but he could hear it pulsing through the thick wood at his back like a pounding heartbeat.

Someone down the hall giggled, and Draco flattened himself against the door—it was dark in the hall, anyway, so what little protection the door frame provided was enough. Besides, Ginny wasn't looking at him; she had her arms around Potter's neck and was murmuring something to him, and then he heard a husky laugh from Potter in return.

_Oh great,_ he thought miserably. He'd escaped the nightmarish storm of noise just to traumatised by another, only this one was about ten times as worse. He couldn't open the door again without being obvious, and that was assuming they weren't aware of his presence already and just didn't care. Of course, he could just go over there and try to annoy them. How successful that would be, he didn't know—Potter didn't seem too bothered by the knowledge Draco had enlightened him to about his girlfriend the last time.

He was saved making a decision by the door of Potter's room slamming open. Potter had been leaning against the wall beside it and jumped, looking around, alarmed.

Theodore was standing in the doorway, the glow of the half-moon coming in the window behind him and illuminating his outline. 'Some of us,' he said in a deadly voice, 'are _trying_ to sleep.'

Ginny put her hands on her hips. 'Oh, as if you can even hear us over that racket.'

'That racket I can sleep through, your slurping outside my door I cannot,' Theodore replied curtly.

'Technically, it's _my_ door,' Potter pointed out.

'Technically, I don't give a damn. Isn't it past your bed time, Weasley?'

Ginny opened her mouth to protest but, as if on cue, her mother's voice rang up the stairs over the muffled music. 'Ginny, darling! Do _not_ make me come up there and get you!'

The triumphant look on Theodore's face was only surpassed by the snarling indignation on Ginny's. Kissing Potter briefly and muttering a parting 'Happy birthday,' she shot Theodore a filthy look and trudged down the stairs without so much as a glance at Draco. Theodore gave her back a happy little wave.

'D'you have to be such a dick?' Potter demanded, although, oddly enough, he didn't seem all that angry.

Theodore, on the other hand, looked furious now that Ginny had gone. 'If you think _that _was being a dick, Potter—'

He paused, cocking his head, and Draco felt suddenly exposed as dark eyes snapped to the shadows in which he'd taken refuge. Potter followed Theodore's gaze. 'What are you doing, Malfoy?'

'Eavesdropping,' Draco replied innocently. 'You know, being a snoop, hearing things I shouldn't. S'hobby, see.'

Potter cracked a grin, but Theodore still looked miffed. He grabbed Potter by the back of his collar and yanked him backwards—Draco raised his eyebrows, expecting a fight, but Potter went easily, his grin snaking into a smirk. Draco was aware he was missing something vital here, but for the life of him couldn't put his finger on what.

Theodore held his gaze all the while dragging Potter towards the door of the bedroom before shoving him through without any ado whatsoever. 'Night, Malfoy.'

- - -


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

_'You're probably wondering,  
what a place like me is doing in a girl like this!'_  
- The Mummy  
.

Snape gave the semi-circle of boys before him a scathing look. 'You must be out of your minds.'

'We will be, if we've got to spend one more night locked up in here,' Potter protested soundly.

Silently, they all agreed. It was, after all, why after many hours and days of deliberation, they had all crammed upstairs outside the master bedroom to make the request. It had seemed like a good idea until Snape had actually opened the door and given them all a look that suggested they had come off the underside of his boot.

And of course, none of them were brave—or stupid—enough to actually_ voice _said request, much less argue over it, except for Potter.

'Absolutely not,' Snape said shortly, and went to close the door.

Potter jammed his foot in the door. 'We're of age,' he pointed out. 'And this isn't school. You've got no right—'

'Of age and yet just as naïve as your unfortunate godfather, I see,' Snape replied coldly; Potter bristled. 'And even more ungrateful, if such a thing is possible.' He ignored the folded-arms-and-glaring Potter and instead looked down at the foot stuck in his door. 'Remove yourself from my doorway, Potter, or I shall be glad to remove you myself.'

Potter seemed to have some sense, Draco thought, because he removed himself quickly; Snape slammed the door closed in his face before he could breathe another word.

'Greasy _git_,' Potter snarled at the door.

'Bugger that,' Dean agreed. His animosity towards Potter hadn't lessened, but Gryffindors seemed unable to do anything but band together when working for a common cause. The common cause in this case being, quite simply, the need to get out of Headquarters for a few hours before they all went clinically insane.

'I say we go anyway,' Zacharias said as they trudged, defeated, back downstairs. 'He can tell us we can't all he wants, but it's not like he can actually stop us.'

'Even if we do, where would we go?' Terry asked. 'I mean, it's not like we're close to anywhere worth going...'

'We could Apparate,' Theodore pointed out.

'Not all of us have passed out tests,' Draco also pointed out. 'Besides, magic can be traced.'

'What happened to good old fashioned walking?' Zacharias suggested. 'We're wizards, not cripples. Our legs still work.'

'We could drive,' Dean suggested. 'Well, I can,' he said, when everyone looked at him. 'My brother taught me how last summer.'

'Well that's helpful considering none of us own a car,' Potter remarked, rolling his eyes.

'We could borrow one.' Now it was Theodore's turn to be the centre of attention. He narrowed his eyes at their looks. 'What?'

'We are _not _stealing a car,' Potter said sternly.

'It's not stealing if we bring it back.'

'Yeah, that's the bit that worries me.'

'Oh for Christ's sake, stay here then,' Dean snapped. 'I can't believe after you and Ron stole his dad's car and flew it to school _you'd_ have anything to say against this.'

'Not to mention wandering the halls at night,' Zacharias added, smirking.

'Or leading an illegal school club fifth year,' Draco tossed in, earning a snicker from Theodore. 'Seriously, Potter, I thought you _had _a pair.'

Potter frowned but stopped trying to protest.

'What about Ernie and Jake?' Terry asked.

'Ernie? Are you kidding? He won't do anything to jeopardise his getting Head Boy this year,' Zacharias said, rolling his eyes. 'And Bradley didn't bother to come with us so he can babysit your cousin for all I care.'

'Muggle cars don't have a lot of room anyway,' Dean pointed out, then paused. 'What about the girls?'

- - -

'Are you sure we're allowed to be doing this?'

Draco had taken the backseat window and Theodore the other, leaving Zacharias sandwiched between them. He could hardly complain, though, with Susan acting as warm and soft—if not somewhat heavy—cushion in his lap. Dean was up front with Terry, Potter and Loony, the latter of whom was sitting half-on the former's lap because it was a very tiny car.

'Susie, relax,' Zacharias said, grinning. 'Even if we _did _get caught it's not like the Muggles could do anything to us.'

'Where are we going?' Luna asked, staring dreamily around.

'Out. Somewhere. Anywhere,' Dean said. 'A park or something. Does it matter?'

'A park?' Luna replied, looking surprised. 'In the middle of the night? That seems a bit silly.'

'Hey, what about there?' Zacharias said suddenly, pointing out the left side.

'Where?' said Dean distractedly.

'There,' Potter confirmed, pointing as well.

Draco tilted his head back so he could see around Susan. Dean pulled over to the side of a small, lamp-lit street packed with young Muggles.

'It's a bar,' Dean said after a moment of peering around. 'Bit busy, though.'

'Busy is good,' Potter said. 'They're less likely to notice us.'

They more or less piled out of the car and onto the pavement, Dean leading the way and Luna drifting idly behind. Susan took a quick look around and glanced nervously back at Draco; he offered her a smile and put a hand on the small of her back. 'C'mon, _Susie_.' She stuck her tongue out at him and then—at the sudden flash of mischief in his eyes—quickly pulled it back inside her mouth.

'Shite,' Dean hissed. 'There's a cover—I don't have enough for all of us—'

Theodore snatched the Muggle money from his hand, pointed his wand at it, and muttered, '_Effingous_.'

The couple of notes turned into a very large handful which Dean divided among the lot of them after paying their way inside. It was a small tavern and overcrowded, with low rock music playing in the background and barely audible above the murmur of many voices and occasional laughs echoing through the place. It was strange to be around so many Muggles, but the atmosphere was cosy enough.

Next to him, Susan shrugged off her jacket. 'It's kind of like a small _Three Broomsticks_,' she observed.

If he imagined the Three Broomsticks about half it's size and devoid of everything that hinted at wizards, then he could see her point. A small, rectangular bench surrounded the bar and was overcrowded with patrons, some standing, some sitting on tall, rickety stools and teething fags between their lips. They followed Dean to the back where he'd managed to find an empty corner booth and filed in, one after another, around the circular table.

'Oh, this is _so_ much better,' Dean said, expelling a sharp breath. 'One more night counting nicks in the ceiling and I would've gone mad.'

Several people nodded empathetically. Zacharias, however, slipped back onto his feet. 'Well, while we're here, I'm going to have a drink.'

'What do Muggles drink?' Luna asked.

'Alcohol, like everybody else?'

'You know what she meant,' Susan said, shaking her head. 'It's not exactly like they serve Firewhisky.'

'No, but regular whiskey is almost as good,' Dean assured her. 'But I need to drive us back, so beer'll have do—Smith, grab us a pint.'

'Grab one yourself!'

'Grab me one, too,' Theodore added.

Before Zacharias could explode in indignation at becoming a waiter in a matter of seconds, both Terry and Luna slipped out of their seats and offered to help. Looking begrudged but grateful, Zacharias stalked off with them and Dean in tow, the latter deciding it would probably be for the best he sorted the money issue as the rest were all wizard-raised and likely couldn't tell a note from a napkin—leaving Draco, Susan, Theodore and Potter sitting around the table.

'I hate that pillock,' Potter muttered as they left, glaring at Zacharias' back.

'Well, he's not exactly fond of you,' Draco pointed out cheerfully. 'Seems to be a popular sentiment.'

'Zach's not so bad,' Susan said defensively. 'Honestly, none of you are, at least on your own. It's when you're all together that you turn into nasty, incorrigible wankers.'

The three of them stared at her. Theodore was laughing and shaking his head.

'Incorrigible wankers,' he mused, smirking. 'I think that's the most accurate term I've ever heard applied to you two.'

'Piss off,' Potter snapped, but without much conviction.

It was only then that Draco realised that Potter and Theodore were sitting shoulder to shoulder, much like he and Susan. But before he could say anything about it, Dean and the others returned, carrying two large pitchers of something golden and frothy, forcing them all to budge inwards to make room. This was unfortunate because it crammed Draco and Potter next to one another, but Draco chose to focus his attention on Susan, who was a much more pleasant presence on his other side.

It also kept his mind off the fact that sitting next to Potter allowed him to see whose fingers were drawing idle patterns on the small of his back.

'This stuff tastes terrible,' Terry remarked, grimacing over a cup.

'I dunno, I kinda like it,' Susan said, shrugging. 'It's like Butterbeer without the scotch.' Draco raised his eyebrows at her; she blushed. 'My dad was Irish,' she admitted. 'Ran a pub over in Bray when I was little.'

Two pitchers later, nobody was fully inebriated, but most of them were feeling considerably more light-headed and uncharacteristically giggly. Except for Potter who, it appeared, was more of a sober drunk, if there was such a thing—his eyes were heavily dilated and he was grinning far too much, but had hardly said a word. Luna was perhaps the most interesting near-drunk he'd ever seen. Her eyes bulging wider than ever, she kept hiccuping and trying to braid Zacharias' hair, much to the Hufflepuff's distress. Draco and Terry had eventually consented to hold him down so she could, which had resulted in an upturned pitcher and a very large amount of vocal protesting.

Bored of tormenting the Hufflepuff, everyone had taken to trying to arm-wrestle Theodore—which of course was completely unfair, but Slytherins didn't rat each other out, so Draco watched, amused, as one by one everyone got their arms flattened to the table. Dean even tried using two arms and a considerable amount of leverage; Theodore smirked lazily and sipped his drink, holding his arm up straight for about two minutes of Dean's labouring before smacking his arm down with a half-hearted flex of his elbow.

'Cheater,' Dean grumbled, eyeing Theodore suspiciously.

Theodore smirked but didn't correct him. Slytherins were always cheaters in one form or another, so there was no point in denying it.

Luna began squirming. Draco at first thought that perhaps a trip to the loo was in order, but eventually she gave Terry a strong prod in the ribs and, complaining about internal bleeding, he pushed his way out of the booth. Luna followed and the two of them wandered off into the crowd, disappearing in the chaotic assembly of swaying, giggling Muggles. Dean decided they needed a refill and went off to fetch it, forcing Zacharias to come along as it had been his resistance that had emptied their third pitcher onto the floor.

Presented with a clear route out of the booth, Susan tugged away from the hand he'd slung around her waist. 'I need to use the loo,' she complained, prying his fingers off her hip. 'Draco, honestly—'

Draco shook his head. 'How do I know you'll come back?'

'I promise?' she tried.

Draco gave her a look. 'What good is the promise of a Hufflepuff?'

'Hufflepuffs are honest!'

'I just spent two weeks sharing a room with Smith,' he pointed out. 'The bloke has perfected the art of lying through his teeth.'

She huffed. 'Well, what _would _assure you, Mr Malfoy?'

He thought about it. 'Well...' He smirked and lowered his voice. 'How about a kiss?'

'Eugh,' said Potter, across from them. Draco kicked his leg hard under the table.

Susan coloured, pursing her lips while she thought about it. Draco did not ease the hold he had on her waist, trusting her bladder to win out over her propriety.

'Incorrigible,' she muttered, which he took as a victory. She didn't pull away immediately when he kissed her, which only encouraged him, and when he pushed his tongue into her mouth she shrieked and pulled away, giggling and blushing in a way that was, as far as his teenage manhood was concerned, extremely appealing.

Potter at least had the decency to wait until she was out of earshot before sneering, 'I thought you _had_ a girlfriend, Malfoy.'

Draco looked round at him; Theodore's arm was slung casually over Potter's shoulder, eyes closed and—now that the majority of the table had scampered off—had his nose buried none-to-casually in the hair behind Potter's ear. 'Pot calling the cauldron black, aren't you?'

What he could see of Theodore's mouth snaked into a sneaky grin, and he whispered something to Potter, who turned so they were nose-to-nose and grinned in return, effectively ignoring Draco.

It was infuriating, really, because Draco couldn't take the mickey out of Potter without stepping on Theodore's toes—something he had learned not to do as early as his second year unless he wanted a bloody nose. Still, it didn't make any sense. Theodore had never expressed interest in _anyone_ at school, so the possibility that he flew on the other side of the pitch was not something Draco found all that hard to believe. But Potter? Aside from Chang and Weasley, he'd never shown interest in anyone else, so not only was his orientation obvious but he certainly didn't come off as the promiscuous type.

Then again, the scrawny tyke in specs he'd met in first year didn't seem like the type able to battle a dragon, score the nearest to perfect record of Snitch-captures in the history of Hogwarts, much less survive multiple confrontations with the deadliest wizard ever to walk the planet, but there it was. Maybe with the past year's events Potter finally began to realise how likely his upcoming doom was and decided to experiment; or maybe Weasley wasn't giving it up; or maybe she was willing but Potter was afraid her six brothers would chop him up into bite-sized bits and feed him to a Hungarian Horntail if he took advantage of it.

Or maybe Theodore had put him under a spell. It wasn't as if that was something he could _completely_ rule out.

Perhaps it was also infuriating because, even if he had been molesting any one of the _other _blokes crammed in Headquarters with them, that Potter didn't seem to give a damn if Draco knew about it or not. Draco liked to think he'd used enough information on Potter—and even made some up—to spread along the school grapevine and make his life miserable that Potter would know better than to expose his experimental trysts.

Of course, there was also the possibility that it was _well past _the experimental phases—but in the interest of preserving the fragile state of his own mental health, Draco derailed that train of thought before it could go anywhere.

Theodore was doing something vile and open-mouthed with a combination of teeth, tongue and lips against the junction of Potter's jaw and earlobe. Draco actually caught himself staring when Potter made a violent jerk and Theodore pulled his mouth away, and the reason why was clear a moment later: Dean slammed another pitcher on the table just as Susan returned, her hair (which had been just down up in a plait, as was usual) hanging freely around her shoulders. It was longer than Pansy's, but just as black against her pale skin, making the faint pink blush in her cheeks stand out.

Dean seemed to have noticed, too, because instead of sitting down, he placed himself strategically between her and the booth where Draco sat waiting. He murmured something Draco could not hear and, a moment later, Susan said, 'Oh, no,' and started laughing as he led her away.

Draco blinked. Zacharias, who had been waiting to get back into the booth, raised his eyebrows. 'I think you've just been jacked, mate.'

Draco was too blinded by indignation to even bother correcting him ('I am not your "mate", mate.'); his lips formed themselves into a snarl and he stormed out of the booth. It was one thing to be outdone by Potter in Quidditch, or Granger in test scores—but he'd be damned if some scrub-of-a-student-Mudblood was going to beat him in _this _department.

Dean, thankfully, seemed to be unaware that he was being stalked. Not five minutes after Draco had followed him he made a break for the loo, in which Draco took the opportunity to slip his hands around Susan's waist from behind and whisper in her ear, 'You should wear your hair down more often, Bones.'

She turned her head to the side, so he could see her profile. She was smiling and did not look all that surprised to see him. 'Oh? You like it?'

'Mm,' he said, planting a kiss at the back of her head; her hair smelled of some citric, sharp substance, like a freshly opened bottle of sparkling cider. Combined with three glasses of beer, inhaling it made him light-headed all over again. He pulled her up against him, delighting in how she went without resistance. She was extremely soft and warm.

A thought suddenly occurred to him—it was quite warm in the bar, as it were, but if they were somewhere colder it would give him more of an excuse to keep her close. 'Hey,' he suggested innocently, 'its running a bit low on air in here, don't you think?'

'Oh, is that so,' she replied coolly. 'Are you sure it's not just your brain running low on air?'

'I'm a chronic claustrophobic,' he pleaded. 'It's not my fault.'

'I see.' She clasped her hands over his, which were still on her hips. 'All right, let's go outside.'

- - -

Even mid-August, it was still chilly outside at midnight. Susan had left her coat inside and rubbed her shoulders; Draco pulled off the jumper he was wearing and offered it to her.

'Thanks,' she said, and he vaguely noted that had it been Pansy, she would have told him to keep it. 'Wow, it's later than I thought. We should probably head back soon.'

The reasonable part of Draco agreed—Snape would notice the sudden quiet in the house, if he hadn't already. Yet the teenage boy part of him thought a combination of dark and late and alone with a pretty girl were worth risking the wrath of various adult figures, even ones so scary as Snape. He would probably think differently later, but Draco had a bad habit of not thinking ahead.

The cold outside had chased most of the Muggles inside or home, leaving them alone out the front with a single lamppost. After she wriggled into the jumper he took her by the shoulders and turned her around. Surprisingly, he didn't even have to instigate this time—the moment she was facing him she tilted her face up, running her hands up over his shoulders and meeting his lips as he tilted his head down, smiling into her mouth.

It lasted a whole blissful thirty seconds.

'Ahaha—no, really, she was—whoa, hello,' Terry said, straightening as he almost ran into them.

Stumbling out the door behind him came Luna, looking very lost and ridiculously happy about it. She stared at the two of them as Susan hid her face in his chest. 'Don't you have a girlfriend?'

Susan pulled away with a start and wiped her mouth quickly. She wouldn't look at him; Draco, glaring, snapped, 'I don't see how _you _would know, not having any friends of your own.'

'Oi,' said a voice from the door behind them. Dean had come out behind them. 'Is Harry out here?'

Zacharias came after him, holding Susan's jacket. He handed it to her and she thanked him, returning Draco's jumper without looking at him. 'Weren't he and Theo inside?'

Zacharias shrugged. 'I went to the loo and came back to find you lot all gone,' he said.

'Bloody hell,' Dean muttered. 'It's _always_ him, isn't it? Come on,' he said to Zacharias, 'help me check the bar again.'

Draco had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, for he had a very good idea where the pair of them had gotten off to. Without Susan's attention it was suddenly very cold outside and his warm bed at Headquarters was suddenly a tempting thought. 'Stay with the car,' Draco told Terry, 'in case that idiot comes looking for us.' Terry nodded. Susan was talking in a low voice to Luna, who appeared to be listening intently; Draco scowled and stalked away, cutting the corner and entered the thin alleyway between the bar and the building next door.

He'd been walking down it for not even a minute before he saw them, and mentally cursed the fact that he was _always _right.

It took a moment to figure out that what he saw was not quite what he had expected. It _was_Potter and Theodore, for sure, and they _were _together—in more ways than he wanted to think about—but instead of facing each other, Potter was leaning heavily on the wall with his forearm, resting his forehead in the crook of his elbow and hiding his eyes from view. Theodore was quite literally at his back, hands tethered to his hips and teeth at his shoulder, scraping down his shoulder blade over the thin fabric of Potter's t-shirt. Potter's mouth, visible just below his elbow, was parted and breathing hard—Draco once again found himself staring, whether in disbelief, marvel, or a combination of both, he had no idea.

All he remembered was that he realised it the same time they all felt the cold.

Every light in the alley and the street lamp behind them went out. A bone-chilling wind ripped through the alley, stealing the breath right out of his lungs and causing his blood to run cold. A deep, irregular rattling, a sound reminiscent of a shuddering chain, echoed from the invisible darkness of the alleyway, scratching the brick walls of the pub like sharp nails on a blackboard.

Potter, of course, reacted first; he shoved away from the wall and Theodore stumbled backwards, and all Draco could remember was a high-pitched buzzing in his ears, and the image of a golden ring spinning to a dull, thudding stop on a bare floor—he clutched at his head and his knees hit the hard, wet concrete and someone was screaming—_he_ was screaming, Potter was shouting, and Theodore made a deep, guttural sound that reverberated off the walls of the alley and the inside of Draco's skull as they came into view.

There were only two (but two were more than enough to do the job, Draco's mind added a bit hysterically), gliding out of the darkness of the alleyway, slimy hands outstretched. Potter wheeled and withdrew his wand in one movement, and even though the roaring in Draco's head was too loud for him to hear the incantation, he saw Potter's lips move, and the burst of silver from the tip of his wand. There was more silver, coming from behind them, shapes Draco didn't recognise—two other Patronuses, minute in comparison to Potter's stag, but just as powerful—the Dementors shrieked and collapsed backwards into the darkness.

Draco gave an unsteady lurch and retched every ounce of alcohol he'd consumed over the cold, cracked stone of the pavement.

He distantly heard Theodore's voice, ragged and aggressive. 'I'm fine—get _off_, Potter.'

Draco coughed, one hand holding him up and the other clutching his stomach. Someone grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and dragged him upwards; he pulled away but Potter was stronger, wrenching him to his feet despite the nausea.

'Get _up_, Malfoy. We need to leave. _Now_.'

Draco stumbled upwards and the lights came back on, temporarily blinding him. Potter made sure he wasn't going to fall over before helping Theodore to his feet, despite the protesting—Draco blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light again, and saw Potter staring at Theodore, looking whiter than he had in the face of the Dementors.

Draco looked at Theodore and felt the cold grip his stomach again; Theodore's dark brown eyes had gone a bright, metallic gold, pupils heavily dilated and he appeared unable to focus on anything. It was the same distant sort of hunger they had seen in textbook pictures in _Defence Against the Dark Arts_—the eyes of a wolf.

Draco sobered up so quickly he nearly retched again. 'Now,' he agreed thickly.

- - -


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

_'I can't lie, but the truth is so extreme.'_  
- Johnny Clegg  
.

The atmosphere inside the house was, if possible, even more foreboding than it was out. Draco and Potter had sat in the back on the return trip, Theodore wedged solidly between them. He was unnaturally quiet but, thankfully, did not protest the excess manhandling—though he had a wild, delirious look about him, eyes still golden and bright in the darkness. Draco thought that perhaps the idea Theodore, someone he considered a fellow, even a friend, was something as dangerous and hideous as a werewolf had not yet been fully appreciated. Draco _knew _what he was, of course, but he had not fully realised it until now.

Any hope they had of sneaking back to their respective rooms unnoticed was quickly dashed upon stepping inside the front door. Every lamp was ablaze, causing the blood-red colour of the walls and carpet to saturate every space in the hall. As the front door clicked closed behind them, a horribly cold and furious voice rang out from the living room.

'In here,' Snape snarled. '_All _of you.'

Glancing nervously at one another, they all did as they were told, though each one trying to walk more slower than the next, as to not have to enter first. Unsurprisingly, this left Potter in the lead, for he seemed to be the only one prepared to face the wrath within. Draco kept one arm latched onto Theodore's elbow and held him back, hoping his precarious state would pass unnoticed. Inside the living room, Snape was seated in the large chair by the fireplace. Lupin, McGonagall, and a young man with fair skin and hair Draco did not know were seated on the sofa across from them.

'I do believe my explicit instructions to you,' Snape began in an unnervingly calm, curious voice, 'were to remain in Headquarters, no matter what the circumstances.' He stood off the chair and gazed down his long, crooked nose at them all. 'Perhaps you, Mr Potter, would like to explain to the Order why you felt it necessary to endanger the lives of the other children.'

Draco waited for the defensive 'It wasn't just Harry's idea!' that was surely to come from Granger or the assorted Weasley, and Snape even paused as if to allow it, but the protest never came. Then Draco realised that not only was there no Granger or Weasley amongst them, but aside from Loony and Theodore, none of them were particular fond of Potter in any way. And Theodore, possessive as he might be, did not dare risk the anger of his Head of House for anyone—like Draco, he knew better.

Potter seemed unaffected by the lack of support. He looked Snape straight in the eye, like a fool. 'Actually, Professor, I believe your exact instructions were to "remove" myself.'

Draco winced. Theodore suppressed a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snigger.

'Do not quote me out of context, Potter, your schemes won't fool anyone here.' Snape glared coldly at the rest of the group. 'As for the rest of you—while I do in fact know Potter holds responsibility for the instigation of this little expedition, I am stunned that so many of you possess the sufficient stupidity to follow him. Including,' he continued slowly, his dark eyes resting on Draco, who swallowed, 'some of my own students.'

'Be that as it may, Professor Snape,' Lupin interjected quietly, 'each is as guilty as the next, for no one held wands at their backs and forced them out the door.'

'Remus is quite right, Severus,' McGonagall agreed. 'All of you should be extremely ashamed of yourselves. The Order has offered you protection, sanctuary, for you and your families—and this is how you repay them?'

The guilt, surprisingly, worked on most of them—Susan, Dean, Luna, even_ Zacharias _were hanging their heads, looking guiltily at the floor as if praying for it to swallow them up. Draco had to withhold the urge to roll his eyes.

'We've been cooped up _all summer,_' Potter protested. 'I'm not a bloody kid, I don't need an escort everywhere—'

'Harry, do you have any idea how lucky you are to have made it back here untouched?' Lupin snapped, a sudden fury lining his voice. 'To think, what could have happened, had you been attacked—'

The sudden intake of breath from them all stopped him mid-sentence, and he glared accusingly at Potter.

'Harry...'

'Two Dementors,' Potter said quietly, his head joining the many already hanging. 'But it's all right, we fought them off—'

'Well, then, if you fought them off it must be all right,' Snape said scathingly. 'It wouldn't mean the Dark Lord now not only has an accurate idea of which students we're hiding, but gives him almost an _exact location_ to Headquarters—'

'At least they're unharmed,' the stranger pointed out, and Draco felt a rushing gratitude for the man for heading Snape off before he had gotten to berating his own students.

McGonagall nodded in agreement. 'Disciplining is in order, but it's already well after midnight, it can wait until morning; however, I do need to alert Dumbledore that the children have been found. He will need to know that they were discovered by one of You-Know-Who's patrols.' She stood, straightening her robes and looking at Lupin and Snape. 'I trust the two of you to handle the punishment,' she added, and at the look of horror on Potter's face, continued with, '_fairly_, Severus. Good night to you.'

Potter was glaring at Snape, so he did not notice the stranger's eyes lingering on him—or perhaps, on his scar. Draco briefly wondered if he would be introduced, but as McGonagall reached the door to the hall she turned around and called, 'Are you coming, Adolf?'

'Yes, of course,' the stranger replied apologetically, eyes flickering quickly away from Potter as Potter's attention turned to him. Perhaps it was the stranger's name right before, but when he spoke Draco caught the hint of a Dutch accent. Before he could get a proper look at the man, however, he vanished in a swish of his long cloak along with McGonagall.

'To bed, all of you,' Snape snapped immediately. 'Except for you,' he added, glaring at Potter.

Draco was eternally grateful for the dismissal, as his shoulder was beginning to ache with the effort of holding Theodore upright. He pushed him off, trusting that since both legs seemed to be working Theodore could stand on his own. Draco did not anticipate the disagreement Theodore's balance had with gravity and barely managed to grab him before he dropped.

The motion, unfortunately, did not go unnoticed.

'What's wrong?' Lupin demanded, eyes snapping to Theodore and interrupting Snape's long, condescending lecture to Potter. The other students, sensing trouble, hurried even faster out of the room and up the stairs as Lupin moved through them. Taking Theodore by the shoulders, tilting his head down to get a better look at him. 'Theodore?'

'He's been a bit off, sir,' Draco said quickly. 'Ever since the Dementors—'

Lupin ignored him and forced Theodore's head up by his chin, immediately narrowing his eyes. 'Where were you?' he asked, looking at Draco. 'Where did you go?'

Caught off guard, Draco answered with the truth, 'A Muggle pub.'

Theodore jerked away from Lupin's grip, which had tightened, snarling. Lupin tightened his grip again and slammed him against the nearest wall so fast that Draco nearly fell over backwards and Potter gasped in surprise.

Theodore clawed at the hand on his throat, golden eyes wide and furious. Lupin held him still at arms length, looking—if possible—even angrier.

'_Idiots_,' he snapped, his uncharacteristic temper gathering worried gazes from both Draco and Potter. 'Do you have any idea what alcohol does to a werewolf? What _any _psychotropic substance will? It doesn't have to be a full moon for him to be dangerous!'

Theodore snarled again, fingers clawing at Lupin's forearms, nails leaving red, aggravated marks in their wake. If Lupin felt the pain, he did a superb job of ignoring it.

'Severus,' he said quietly.

Snape heaved a great sigh, looking very annoyed. 'Are you sure that is necessary?'

'If anyone is to get sound sleep tonight,' Lupin snapped in reply, his eyes darting to Snape and glaring hard. 'Or shall I retrieve it myself, while _you _hold him?'

Narrowing his eyes he stood, leaving Draco and Potter both wide-eyed in stupor at the exchange. Draco began to edge towards the door, not sure he wanted to be around when Snape returned, lest his professor decided to retaliate with his wand.

Lupin, however, cut off his escape; 'Harry, Draco, I need you both—Harry, clear off the coffee table, Draco, help me with him—don't worry, I've got his head, get his legs.'

Draco stared at him. 'What are you going to do?'

'What is necessary,' Lupin said shortly, glaring at him. 'Perhaps next time you feel like acting irresponsibly, you will think carefully of the consequences. Get his legs.'

Theodore was a lot stronger than he looked, and this was true even considering Draco _had_ seen beneath his robes. Draco could barely restrain one leg on the table, much less both—Potter ended up having to take the other, and Lupin straddled Theodore's chest, pinning his armpits down with his knees and one hand still firmly fixed on his neck right before the jaw. By the time Snape returned they had managed to hold him reasonably still; Snape was carrying a small, thin vial and a syringe, which he stuck in the vial and slowly extracted a light-coloured substance. As he titled the filled syringe up and tapped it once, twice, and a third time, Draco caught the quick, metallic gleam in the light.

'What are you doing?!' he demanded, releasing Theodore's leg, which began to kick immediately, catching Potter in the chest. 'You're going to kill him!'

Potter took another kick. 'Ow! Fuck, Malfoy!'

'Language, Potter. And we are not going to be killing anyone, Mr Malfoy,' Snape said smoothly as Lupin and Potter struggled to hold Theodore down, Potter sitting on his knees and strangling his ankles with both hands. Draco wavered uncertainly between the sofa and the table, unsure.

'It's all right, Draco,' Lupin assured him, much of the anger already gone from his voice. 'It's very diluted, there's barely half a Sickle's worth of silver in there.'

'But why—'

'It's safer than waiting for the alcohol to leave his system,' Lupin continued. 'Harry, make sure you hold that leg still. Severus, just below the—'

'I know what I am doing, thank you,' Snape snapped. 'If you recall, I've had plenty of experience with this.'

Lupin's lips pressed into a thin line, but he quickly turned his attention instead to Theodore, whose eyes were still wild and furious. 'I'm afraid,' Lupin said apologetically, 'this is going to hurt quite a bit.'

Draco watched in horror as Snape approached the legs Potter held down, seized one and yanked up the trouser leg to expose the ankle, and sunk the needle into the soft skin just below the bone.

Theodore screamed—a horrible, ragged, enraged sound which penetrated every crevice in the old house. Draco and Potter both winced, at the noise and in sympathy, while Lupin used every angle of advantage he could to hold Theodore in place. It was over fast; Snape removed the syringe as quickly, jerking away as Theodore hissed and his leg gave a particularly nasty thrash, nearly upsetting Potter.

'Ow! Christ,' Potter snapped, slamming the ankle back down with both hands as Theodore went suddenly rigid. 'Why'd you stick him _there _of all places?'

'Far as possible from the heart and brain,' Lupin explained. 'Just a precaution; makes it easier on him, as well, if the solutions diluted into the blood before it reaches the heart—you may want to fetch that basin, Draco.'

Draco had no sooner summoned the basin from the far side of the room than Lupin stood up and pushed Potter aside. Theodore immediately rolled off the table and collapsed over the basin and was violently sick into it.

'He'll be all right,' Lupin said over the noise at the look of horror on the other boys' faces. 'Couple of hours or so, and a good night's rest.'

'Perhaps it would be in best interest that the boy is... restrained, for the night,' Snape suggested icily, his eyes lingering over Theodore's shaking shoulders with distaste.

'That won't be necessary,' Lupin said, with an unanticipated amount of ferocity. 'Harry, Draco, help him upstairs to your room.'

'_Their_ room.' Draco muttered the correction, giving Potter a meaningful look which went ignored. Theodore had finished vomiting and Potter was helping him to his feet, despite Theodore telling him to piss off.

'Your room, now,' Lupin said, raising his eyebrows. 'We've had a few more students join us in your absence,' he added quickly. 'We had to move the three of you into the same room, since you two are the only ones comfortable around Theodore now that he's... well, yes. Your things have already been taken up.'

Draco stared at him in disbelief, the outrage clear in his voice as he spoke. 'You _what_?'

'Make sure he sleeps,' Lupin said to Potter, ignoring Draco. 'You and I,' he said, looking up at Snape, who sneered in returned, 'need to have a word. Goodnight, boys.'

- - -

'Bloody Christ in a dinghy, it feels like my blood's on fire.'

Theodore's sarcasm seemed the only thing to go unaffected by the silver solution currently coursing through his veins. The feeble light of the half moon coming through the window made him appear colourless and skeletal, and Potter had been sitting on the foot of his bed looking lost for the better part of the hour since they'd come upstairs—by the time they'd dragged Theodore up to the room his eyes had faded back to normal and he was sick again in the hall, gagging hard until he was coughing up nothing but clear saliva and acid. Since then, he'd been cursing every deity that came to mind, both Muggle and Wizard alike.

'Go to bed, Potter,' Theodore snapped. It was the fifth time he'd given the order, and the fifth time Potter ignored it, staring resolutely at the floor. Theodore made to give him a shove but stopped mid-way through the sudden movement, the muscles in his arm seizing up.

Both Draco and Potter reacted to steady him, and Theodore yanked his arm away angrily, snarling. 'I preferred you both trying to kill one another,' he muttered. 'I'm a _monster_, not a bloody cripple. _Piss off.'_

Draco narrowed his eyes but obliged, annoyed at Potter for being there at all, and even more so at himself for bothering. He retreated to the other bed and ignoring the makeshift cot in the other corner. He didn't care _whose _room it was; he had never slept on anything less than a cushioned surface in his life and certainly wasn't going to start on Potter's account.

Potter finally stood up, moving past the bed Theodore laid on, hesitating at the head. He started to move again when Theodore's hand shot out and grabbed his elbow, halting him. Wordlessly, Potter used his free hand to remove his cloak and kicked off his shoes before climbing into the bed with Theodore.

Draco's stomach twisted in on itself and he rolled over, so he was facing the wall. He could hear rustling from behind in the other bed as Potter crawled under the covers, and then the room fell silent as the three of them lay still.

Long after Theodore and Potter's breathing came in a synced, shallow pattern Draco laid awake, staring at the dark wood of the wall beside his bed. It wasn't even the fact that it was two _blokes _lying together that kept him wide-awake, and though he tried to convince himself that it was, lying to oneself was a rather futile exercise, even for one so practised at lying as him.

It was cold on his side of the room despite the thick layer of covers laid over him. With nothing but the darkness for company, Draco pulled the duvet up over his head and waited for dawn.

- - -

**Notes**:

Yes, his name is _Adolf_. Yes, you'll be seeing him again, and soon. He's not quite as OMC as you might think—but more on that later.

'_Christ in a dinghy_' - means I've been re-readingFounding/Losing Hogwarts during really, really slow shifts at work. For those of you following, deal Syl has stated on her profile she's been busy with Uni (hence the lack of updates) but plans to write a bunch over the holidays. Yay!  
.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

_'That's what learning is. You suddenly understand something  
you've understood all your life, but in a new way.'_  
- Doris Lessing

The moment the sun had peeked over the horizon and doused the room in it's rays, Draco had rolled out of bed. Theodore lifted his head at the noise, his hair mussed and eyes squinting against the light.

'Malfoy?'

'Shower,' Draco muttered quickly, averting his eyes from the equally mussed head of hair resting on the pillow by Theodore's shoulder. He grabbed his clothes to take with, throwing on a robe and disembarking the room quickly, before Theodore could ask him anything else. He was sure he heard a snicker as he closed the door, and scowled.

Going straight from his shower to the kitchen, Draco found himself alone in the basement, it being far too early in the morning for anyone else to be stirring. Grateful, Draco fixed himself tea and toast and had just sat down at the table with Lupin entered, looking just as tired as Draco felt.

'Good morning,' he said, and Draco mumbled a greeting in reply through his breakfast. Lupin didn't seem to mind. He poured himself a cup from the kettle Draco had heated. 'How is he?'

Draco shrugged. 'Why don't you ask Potter?' he muttered.

Lupin looked up and raised an eyebrow. 'Everything all right, Draco?'

Draco looked up at him, and suddenly wished he hadn't said anything. Lupin was watching him curiously, the corner of his mouth just slightly slanted upwards, and it was then Draco realised he already _knew_.

'Dandy,' Draco replied, rolling his eyes.

Lupin chuckled and stirred his tea thoughtfully. Draco scowled at him. 'Does it bother you?'

'No,' Draco replied automatically. 'Well. Yes. Of course it fucking does.'

'Why?'

'He's my_ friend_!' Draco snapped indignantly. Well, it was sort of true. 'He's in my House! That's bad enough as it is—_and_ he's a werewolf! It's not right!'

Lupin raised the other eyebrow. 'Why—because he's your friend, or because he's a werewolf?'

'Both!' Draco snapped, only then realising he was talking to the only _other _werewolf he knew. 'Er. I didn't mean—'

'It's fine,' Lupin said, waving his hand dismissively. 'I understand how you feel about it.'

'Sorry,' Draco mumbled anyway, remembering the bright look on Tonks' face as she'd declared her feelings for his old Professor. 'And _Potter_—he's—well—_Potter_!_ And _a Gryffindor!'

Getting all of this frustration out—finally—may have actually helped Draco's nerves, had Lupin not started laughing at this point. Draco glared at him.

'Hang on,' Lupin began, covering his mouth with the back of his hand until he'd managed to contain his amusement behind a smile. 'Let me get this straight—it bothers you because Theodore is not only your friend, but a fellow Slytherin—not to mention a werewolf—and because Harry is _Harry_, but even more so because he's also a Gryffindor?'

'Yes!' Draco snapped in outrage. How could anyone _not _see a problem there? It was as clear as day! '_What is so bloody funny?_'

'Sorry,' Lupin echoed, struggling to quiet himself and smirking. 'Calm down. It's just—honestly, Draco, is that really all that's bothering you?' Draco stared at him. 'I mean, just who—and what—they are?'

'What do you mean, "just"?' Draco demanded, still staring. 'What _else _is there?'

'The fact that they're both boys?' Lupin suggested, pensively sipping his tea.

Draco blinked. 'Oh. Er—' Having been preoccupied with the other aforementioned facts, he'd sort of glazed right over that detail. 'I don't,' he started, faltering. His teenage imagination was running away with the information, and he shook his head to clear it. 'I don't know much about it. It doesn't matter. Does it?'

'It does to some people,' Lupin said, putting down his cup. He stood and returned it to the basin as he continued talking, his back to Draco. 'Just like it matters to some people that I'm a werewolf, or that Hermione is a Muggleborn. If you take my meaning.'

Draco didn't say so, but the clarity in that statement was extremely unnerving. 'It's not right,' Draco repeated, glaring at the table top. 'It's just—_not right_.'

Lupin poured himself another cup of tea. 'According to whom?'

- - -

It was midday before Draco worked up enough courage to go back into that room. Well, perhaps it had less to do with courage and more willingness to face the lesser of two evils, for just as the grandfather clock in the hall struck noon, Draco heard the door to the master bedroom upstairs slam open. Deciding that being crammed in a room with Theodore and Potter was much safer than being confronted with his Housemaster, Draco dashed up the two flights and into the room before Snape had the chance to descend on him.

Theodore and Potter both looked up as he slammed the door closed behind him, leaning against it and panting. 'All right there, Malfoy?' Potter asked, eyebrows raised. Draco was about to tell him where he could shove his concern when he opened his eyes and the scene before him stopped him short.

The two of them sat on the floor, Potter cross-legged and Theodore sprawled carelessly beside him, chin perched on his shoulder. Strewn around them was what looked like several disembowelled books, a couple of open ink bottles and a wing's worth of quills. Potter had black ink smudged against the side of his nose and on his chin, and Theodore had piece of torn parchment stuck in his hair.

'What the hell are you doing?' Draco demanded.

Potter scowled at him but didn't answer. Crossing out something with his quill, he rubbed at his nose again, spreading the black stain there further across his cheekbone.

'Studying, what's it look like,' Theodore said casually, glancing up at him once more before looking back over Potter's shoulder. 'No, _that's_ right, _that _one's wrong,' he said, pointing.

Scowling further, Potter scratched out the line beneath and scribbled something else down. 'I still don't understand how we got to this from that.'

'That's because you didn't take Arithmancy, twit,' Theodore told him affectionately. 'Which is like trying to take Transfiguration without Charms: idiotic. You can learn to _do _them independently, but you _need _one to understand the other. No, you've got it wrong again—you need enough fluxweed to balance the monkshood solution, or you're just going to end up poisoning whoever drinks it, werewolf or not. Three grams to the millilitre, Potter.'

Draco pushed himself off the door and went to stand over them, squatting down to get a better look at the parchment all over the floor. He looked up at them in disbelief. 'You're trying to learn to make the Wolfsbane Potion? Are you mad?'

'Not trying to make it,' Potter corrected him, glancing up only briefly. 'You're in the light, bugger off.'

'Trying to _improve _it,' Theodore explained at Draco's look of confusion. 'He's actually not half bad at Potions, if you ignore the fact that he can't do arithmetic to save his life.'

Potter elbowed him but didn't look up again; he was making a long list in minute short-hand that was impossible to read upside-down. 'How much silver do you think you could take?'

Theodore made a face, likely remembering the effects of last night. 'Dunno. Should probably ask the other wolf.'

Potter nodded and made a note. Draco was still trying to get over what he was seeing: not only were the two of them sitting entwined on the floor, but they were doing _homework _together. Not even homework! Independent study, apparently! It was so utterly ridiculous that he almost burst out laughing.

'You all right?' Theodore asked.

That snapped Draco out of it. 'What?'

'You looked like you were going to have some sort of fit.'

'What would happen if we used ginger roots instead?' Potter asked. 'We can't use scarab beetles with the belladonna, but the armadillo bile might work...'

'You want to add Wit-Sharpening Potion to it?' Draco asked, catching the ingredients and putting them together. 'You're crazy; the reaction of silver solution and ginger would kill anything that ate it; you'd probably cause a werewolf to bloody combust.'

'What do _you _suggest, then?' Potter snapped, glaring at him.

'How the hell should I know? I don't even know what you're trying to do!'

'We're trying to improve it, I told you,' Theodore said simply. 'Wolfsbane Potion prevents the dementia and aggravated aggression in werewolves, but it still leaves them as dangerous as any _normal _wolf.'

'And you're trying to make them what, harmless?' Draco asked in disbelief.

'_Aware_, actually,' Potter corrected him, eyes still on the parchment he was scribbling corrections on. He spared Draco a glance. 'Think how useful a werewolf on our side would be if once a month he turned into a wolf and could not only remember who he was, but be in control of himself?'

Draco blinked. 'You mean an involuntary Animagus?'

'Something like that,' Theodore said wryly. '_You're_ Vector's prodigy, Malfoy—why don't you have a look at it?'

'Vector's?' Potter asked, looking up.

'Miss_ Magdalena Vector_,' Theodore said in such a sultry voice that Draco blushed. 'The Arithmancy Professor, twit. I don't know a bloke who hasn't had a wank over _her_,' he added, giving Draco a look, 'present company hardly excluded.'

'Well I haven't,' Potter pointed out, apparently uninterested. Then he paused, glancing sideways at Theodore. 'Have _you_?'

Theodore met his gaze and smirked. 'Maybe.'

Draco waited, but neither of them seemed keen on looking away, and Draco decided to intervene before he witnessed something he'd rather not. He cleared his throat—loudly.

'Anyway,' Potter said, looking away, 'we don't need his help.'

Theodore frowned, but shrugged. 'All right.'

'I never _offered_,' Draco pointed out sourly.

They ignored him, and set back to work.

- - -

That night, he didn't comment or even turn away as Theodore pulled Potter into bed with him. He actually watched, sideways and wide-eyed, as the two of them settled down in the darkness. Theodore was whispering things Draco couldn't make coherent sense of, so instead he watched Potter's reaction to them. It started with closed eyes and a grin, his back to Theodore's chest, but the more Theodore talked the bigger the grin became, and eventually he opened his eyes halfway and whispered something back. Theodore pulled his shoulder back, rolling Potter onto his back and Theodore holding himself up above him, balanced on one elbow and tracing the fingertips of his other hand over Potter's profile.

Draco sucked in a deep breath through his nose and tried to steady the rate of his diaphragm. Theodore stopped his fingers over the soft spot under Potter's jaw and stroked the pulse-point there with his thumb, and waited. It didn't take long—Potter's eyelids fluttered momentarily and a gasp escaped his lips before he reached up and pulled Theodore's head down into a kiss.

It was hypnotising, really, Draco thought a bit idiotically—the slant of their mouths as they came together, noses colliding, lips moulding against one another, the occasional glimpse of a wet tongue flashing between their mouths. Draco had _seen _people French-kissing before, but he'd never actually _watched _it. Even when he was snogging Pansy, he'd never really thought about _what _he was doing—of course, he had an idea, but just sort of opened his mouth and went with whatever felt best. He'd never gotten any complaints, so he supposed whatever he had been doing was all right. But this... this was, well, _erotic _in every sense of the word. And that's all they were doing—snogging! No groping, no disgusting noises or suggestive movement of the hips... just _kissing_. They were just _kissing _and Draco was just _watching them_ and he couldn't ever remember being more turned on in his life.

Theodore suddenly got impatient with the slow, deliberate movements; he growled into Potter's mouth and moved over him, holding him down by the shoulders despite the fact that Potter wasn't fighting him. Potter hissed beneath him and shifted to accumulate the added weight on his chest, gasping as Theodore released his mouth and trailed down his neck with his open mouth. Potter twisted his fists in the sheets and Theodore's hand lifted his t-shirt up, over his chest, holding the hem in a clump at his collarbone. The open mouth moved down to the bare chest, and Potter arched his back and moaned. The sound shot right through Draco, tingling in all the right places and causing him to cringe.

'Shhhh,' Theodore admonished in a whisper, moving his mouth back up to Potter's lips, which were gasping for air. 'Don't want to wake anybody up, do we?'

Potter let out a breathless laugh and kissed him again. Theodore kissed him back, pushing his head down into the pillow—but his eyes, wide open, tilted up and locked eyes with Draco—Draco, who had forgotten that he was staring at them openly, and that werewolves had flawless night vision, and even so could certainly _hear _the difference between the pulse of one encased in a deep sleep and one wide-awake and severely aroused.

Draco rolled over quickly, wincing as the bed creaked beneath him. He was willing to bet Potter was too preoccupied to notice—but he could still feel Theodore's eyes on him long after he'd turned away.

- - -

Another sleepless night filled with dreams Draco would rather _not_ acknowledge had left him in a considerably foul mood. He snapped at his fellow Sixth- and Seventh Years and snarled at the younger students that had taken up temporary residence at Headquarters throughout the morning, until rumour seemed to have circulated the house that 'Malfoy was in a Mood' and everyone started avoiding him altogether.

Well, _almost_ everyone.

'You look a right state,' Zacharias informed him, entering the lounge. 'Need to be careful, with hair like yours; you'll end up grey before you're thirty.'

Draco gave him his best I-will-chop-off-your-bollocks-with-a-rusty-ice-pick glare. 'Who asked you?'

Zacharias shrugged. 'Just saying, mate. You really should get out all that aggravation before you end up splitting hairs.'

'Are you volunteering?'

Zacharias smirked. 'I'll hold Potter down for you, if you like.'

_Theodore would rip you to shreds_, Draco thought dismally. Then he started to imagine just _how _he would work out his 'aggravation' on Potter if he had the chance to do so; Draco suddenly suffered an involuntary vision that caused him to make a rather alarming noise.

'You all right?' Zacharias asked. He _sounded _concerned, but looked more interested in the way the drapes were fluttering in the afternoon breeze than why Draco was suddenly suffering from an epileptic fit. 'Please don't choke; I don't know the proper spell to fix that, so you'd probably die.'

'Do you _want _something?' Draco demanded after successfully surviving his coughing fit.

'Me? With you? Heavens, no,' Zacharias said, waving a hand dismissively. 'But, we got our letters, and nobody else wanted to come within arm's reach of you, so I decided to do you the favour of delivering it.'

He smiled at Draco, as if this is something Draco should have been pleased to hear—that he, Zacharias Smith of the Hufflepuff House, had personally delivered his Hogwarts letter when no one else would.

Draco stared at him. 'Er. Right. Well, where is it?'

Zacharias' smile disappeared; he looked rather crestfallen that Draco did not shower him with 'thank you's and promises of devotion and loyalty. 'Here,' he said airily, tossing it across the room with a sideways flick of his wrist.

Draco caught it and tore it open, using his wand as a letter-opener. It was thicker than his previous letters, but he expected that this being his seventh and final year, they had a lot more specific subjects to cover.

He had not expected a large, embossed badge to come tumbling out and land heavily on his foot.

'Er,' said Draco, staring.

'Hm?' said Zacharias, then followed his gaze to the shiny, silver pin lying on the floor. Then he smirked. 'Oh,' he said, sounding delighted, 'MacMillan is going to be _pissed_.'

- - -

**Notes**:

Yes, Professor Vector is the canon name for the Arithmancy teacher--all we know is the surname, and that it's a witch.

And thanks once again to the lovely **Raven**, who has helped ensure I don't make a complete fool of myself.

More coming soon!


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

_'Betcha didn't see that comin!'  
'No, no—that was a real frisbee to the head, that one.'_  
- Desperate Housewives

'_You?'_

Everyone was staring at him in disbelief. None moreso than Ernie Macmillan, who probably would have been screaming his head off if he had motor control of his jaw, which had fallen open since Zacharias flounced Draco downstairs and made the announcement. Terry had his hand clamped over his mouth and his cousin was cowering behind him, watching Ernie like he was a madman.

Susie hadn't been in the same room as Draco since the night at the pub and was still locked in her room upstairs. Theodore looked amused; Potter looked positively horrified. Draco was torn between feeling annoyed and extremely smug. Luna, tucked behind the latest edition of _The Quibbler_, seemed to be the only one who sincerely did not give a damn either way.

'There has to be some sort of mistake.'

Ernie had regained his voice, but Draco cut him off before he could get going. 'That's my name on the parchment, Macmillan.'

'This is insane!' Ernie hissed, glaring at him. 'You weren't even first in our year!'

'No, that was Hermione,' Zacharias pointed out, seeming very proud to deliver the facts. '_I_ was second._ You _were third,' he said, pointing at Macmillian. 'Malfoy was like, tenth, or something.'

'Thanks, Smith,' Draco said darkly.

'So what has he got that I don't?' Ernie demanded over him.

'Great hair,' Zacharias suggested, giving Draco a once-over and smirking.

Potter snorted. 'Not to mention that he's a pompous, snivilling _git—_'

'Careful, Potter,' Draco said, smirking. 'I'll start keeping a tally of how many points you've lost and deduct them before you've even had a chance to earn any.'

'Careful, Malfoy,' Potter returned, 'just because you've got that badge doesn't mean I can't kick your teeth in.'

'What do you think, Smith,' Draco interrupted. 'Ten points from Gryffindor per bodily threat?'

'Better make it twenty,' Zacharias advised.

'This is insane!' Ernie hissed again. '_And _extremely unfair!'

'Oh, quit whinging,' Theodore snapped. 'Nobody likes you anyway.'

'Nobody likes Malfoy, either,' Potter pointed out.

They all exchanged looks; Draco glared at Theodore, then Smith, who shrugged. 'Prats,' he muttered, rolling his eyes and turning to leave. 'I'm going to bed.'

Behind him, Ernie made a high-pitched noise and there was a sound like someone collapsing in a comatose heap on the sofa. Climbing the stairs, Draco put his hand in his pocket and fingered the badge hiding there. He was just as surprised as the rest of them, honestly, and couldn't imagine what Dumbledore was playing at by making him Head Boy. Draco had had half a mind to return the letter refusing the position, but then pondered that perhaps thats what Dumbledore had expected or wanted him to do.

And then Smith had reminded him that Head Boy and Girl were the only ones aside from teachers who could deduct points—Draco smirked to himself and squeezed the badge in his fist. Perhaps he'd hang on to it—just for a little while.

- - -

'Bugger this.'

Draco raised his eyes from his book. It was the middle of the afternoon of the next day, and Potter and Theodore had succeeded in carpeting every flat surface of the room in bits of parchment and potions ingredients, save for the bed Draco was using. Potter was looking cross and glared purposely at the smoking cauldron before him; Theodore, on the other side of the room, pointed his wand at it and dimmed the fire.

'You want it to simmer, not burn.'

'It _was _simmering!'

'No, that was _boiling_. And at _that _temperature, all of the non-toxic solution would evaporate, leaving you with a pot full of poison that could euthanise a dragon.' After a thoughtful pause in which Theodore watched Potter's brow knit together, he added, kindly, 'Twit.'

'Git,' Potter replied automatically. Draco sighed and rolled his eyes.

They had been working on the potion since about midday. They had slept through the entire morning and would have likely continued to if Draco hadn't _accidentally _dropped his trunk loudly off his bed, waking them both. Looking exhausted, Potter had rolled immediately out of bed and checked on the brewing potion in the corner; Theodore had promptly pulled the covers back over his head and snoozed for another half an hour before following suit.

'Bugger this,' Potter muttered, dusting off his hands and standing. 'I'm going to get a drink.'

Theodore yawned and said, 'Grab me one, while you're at it.'

'You want anything?'

It took a moment for Draco to realise Potter was talking to _him_. He blinked, then stared for a moment; caught so off-guard, he didn't have a snarky reply at hand, so settled for, 'Sure.'

Potter just nodded and disappeared out the door, as if politely asking your rival of seven years running if they wanted a drink was nothing special. Theodore watched him go with a hungry look. Draco quickly buried himself back behind his book.

He was shortly interrupted by Theodore flopping unceremoniously onto his bed, slinging and arm around his shoulders in the process. Draco didn't move, but glared at him sideways. Theodore smirked. 'It really buggers you, doesn't it?'

Draco turned his eyes back to the book. 'No.'

'No?'

'Not in the least,' Draco affirmed, looking at him again. 'Why would I give a damn about anything to do with him?'

Theodore raised his eyebrows, but shrugged. 'If you say so.'

Draco decided a change of subject was in order. 'How's the potion coming?'

'Better, if you'd have a look.'

'I'm not--'

'You _are_,' Theodore corrected him, before he could finish. '_Far_ better, than either of us. And you know it.'

'Doesn't mean I'll be any help.'

'Couldn't hurt.' Theodore still had his arm draped over Draco's shoulder, and leaned in heavily. 'Come on, Malfoy. It'd take you like ten minutes.'

'I'm reading.'

'You're _sulking_,' Theodore observed, leering lecherously at him, 'because Bones won't let you snog her anymore.'

'I can get a snog anytime I damn well please, thank you.'

Theodore smirked. 'Was that an invitation?'

Draco had just gone pink the moment Potter opened the door, and then gave them both a very cold look. 'Cosy?' he asked curtly.

'Very,' Theodore informed him happily. 'Malfoy just offered me a snog.' (Draco went to box his ear; Theodore ducked to avoid it.) 'But I told him I'm a one-man wolf.'

'Lucky me,' Potter said dryly. With an idle wave of his wand, the glasses wizzed towards them both with an unnecessary amount of velocity.

Draco's nearly upturned all over him as he caught it, glaring at Potter. 'Can hardly say the same for _you_, though.'

It was Potter's turn to go pink. 'Shut your mouth,' he said quickly. 'It's none of your business.'

Draco smirked. 'That's never stopped me before.'

'No, but _I_ have,' Potter said, giving him a look.

Theodore grinned and rested his head on Draco's shoulder. 'He's awfully fetching when he's all miffed; we should keep you around more often, Malfoy.'

'Oh get off,' Draco snapped, shoving him by the shoulder. 'I've got other things I'd rather be doing then watch you molesting him.'

'It's not molesting if he likes it,' Theodore pointed out, rolling off the bed. He winked at Potter, who blushed. 'One pat on the head and he rolls over like a puppy.'

Draco looked at Potter just as Potter did the same; involuntarily, their eyes locked, and Potter's blush worsened. Theodore was too busy snickering to notice and Draco, thankful, ducked back behind his book despite the fact that he knew he wasn't absorbing a word of it.

- - -

Draco walked into the basement intent on dinner and instead found himself in the midst of a frenzy.

'Oh well _done_, Hermione,' Tonks said, grinning and giving her a hug.

Granger, Weasley, and most of the students staying at Grimmauld Place, aside from Potter and Theodore, were gathered around the table, which was full of empty plates waiting to be filled. Susan was glaring at Granger, who was so beside herself with pride that she didn't even notice when Susan kicked Crookshanks as he attempted to dash by under the table.

Granger squeezed Tonks briefly before letting go and smiled at Weasley, who rolled his eyes and said, 'Well who _else _would it be?'

'Well, you should never_ assume_, Ronald,' Granger reprimanded in a terrible attempt at having some humility. 'There were plenty of other girls that were just as qualified as I was.'

'Uh-huh,' Weasley said, his expression clouding with distaste as he noticed Draco. 'What do _you _want, Malfoy?'

Draco, too horrified to react in any dignified manner, just stared dumbly.

Well, of_ course _it would be her. As Weasley had pointed out, she was the _obvious _choice.

_The obvious choice if you're a sadistic, crooked-nose bastard with a Muggle fixation,_ Draco thought bitterly.

At mention of his name, Granger looked around at him, and Draco suddenly realised that he hadn't read the actual letter that came enclosed with the Head Boy badge yet. The letter would have likely informed him who Head Girl was, and vice versa. Apparently, Granger had yet to break the news to her Housemates.

'Malfoy,' she said evenly. 'Congratulations.'

Draco sneered but did not reply.

Weasley stared at her. 'Why are you congratulating _him? _Besides the fact that he's officially the World's Most Annoying Git.'

'Careful, Weasley,' Draco said, smirking. 'Between you and Potter, you'll lose all the points Gryffindor's bound to earn before the term starts.'

Granger closed her eyes and sighed. Weasley blinked at him. 'Whaddya mean, we'll lose points? Prefects can't deduct points—' And then he stopped, and Draco watched with mild satisfaction as it sunk in. Weasely suddenly looked terrified. 'No way,' he said, recoiling slightly with a look of disgust. 'No bloody _way_.'

Draco withdrew the badge from his pocket and dangled it tauntingly. 'As usual, it sucks to be you, Weasley.'

'But you—but it's_ you_!' Weasley spluttered indignantly, shoving an accusing finger in Draco's direction. 'You! And Hermione!' Weasley, alarmed by his own observing, looked quickly between them both. 'You and him!'

Granger met Draco's gaze, her eyes dauntless. 'Yes, I suppose it is.' She gave Weasley a look; he was staring at her in open-mouthed disbelief. She turned back to Draco. 'I'm sure Dumbledore had an excellent reason for appointing Malfoy; afterall, to get through this war in one piece we will all have to learn to work together at some point—'

Draco snort derisively, interrupting her. 'Don't bloody count on it.'

Granger opened her mouth to retort just as the kitchen door opened and Weasley's sister flounced in. She took a quick look around before looking at Draco. 'Where's Harry?'

Draco blinked, wondering why she'd asked _him _of all people. 'What the bloody hell do I care, where he is?'

'You're splitting a room, aren't you?' she asked.

'So's Nott,' Draco sneered. 'Why don't you go ask _him_?'

'Because he's not here?' Ginny sneered right back, taking a seat beside Susan. 'Anyway, what's for—'

'Malfoy's Head Boy!' Ron snapped, unable to contain himself any longer. He was pointing again. 'Dumbledore made _him_ Head Boy!'

Ginny rolled her eyes. 'I know, Ronald. Hermione already told me.'

'You told _her_?' Ron asked, turning to Hermione while his face reddened in indignation. 'Why'd you tell her and not _me_!'

'Obviously because you receive news so well, Weasley,' Draco said dryly, sliding into the seat between Zacharias and Luna. 'Now if you're done being an idiot, please do close your mouth, some of us would like to keep our appetites.'

'Maybe you should just take your appetite and—'

'Ron, _please_,' Granger cut him off, hands on her hips. 'It's no use even talking to him, let's just eat.'

'Yes,' Tonks said brightly, looking delighted that Granger had things under control. Being the only adult in a room full of teenagers seemed to leave her at a loss of what to do, and the suggestion of supper gave her something to do. 'Molly brought over more than enough for all of you, but I'll need a little help loading the table—'

'Somebody should go get Potter and the wolf,' Zacharias remarked idly, spinning this fork between his fingers. 'I don't want to here their whinging later that they're hungry.'

'Go get them, then,' Draco said, unwilling to climb three flights of stairs when the food was only moments away. Weasley's mother may have made it, but it smelled delicious and food had been predictability sparse at Headquarters since the arrival of so many students—teenage boys ate as much as dragonspawn and twice as quickly; they were practically starving.

'I'll get them,' Ginny volunteered, standing. 'Third floor, right?'

Draco nodded, and she disappeared. He wondered momentarily just _what_ Potter and Theodore were up to—and what she would find when she got up there... but then Tonks slopped a large bowl of mashed potatoes down on the table in front of him, and all thoughts not regarding food were blissfully forgotten.

- - -

Draco had just filled his plate and gone to take the first bite; the fork was actually poised inside of his mouth, the aroma of sweet, hot food filling his mouth and sinuses, when upstairs, he heard a scream.

He put down the fork; everyone was looking up, struck dumb in the unexpected interruption. Then Ginny screamed again, and everyone began moving at once.

Tonks was first up the stairs; Granger and Weasley were close seconds, followed by Luna, Macmillian and the others. Draco looked mournfully down at his food before rolling his eyes and following.

By the time he'd squeezed his way onto the third landing, Draco could hear Ginny's voice clearly coming from the room he, Potter and Theodore shared.

'Harry, stop it! This is mad, completely mad! He's not safe!'

'He's fine, if you lot would just bugger off!'

'I'm not going anywhere until you come out of there!'

'I'm not going anywhere until you all piss off!'

'Harry! Ginny, really!' Tonks voice came from just inside the door. 'Both of you need to calm down. Let's just leave them be, I'll go get Remus and Professor Snape—'

'I'm not leaving him alone with that animal!'

'He's not an animal,' Tonks said quietly, a hard edge that sounded alien to her voice. 'He's still a _person_, Ginny. He's just having a hard time making the transition—'

'I can handle it,' Potter's voice came from within the room again. 'Get Lupin, get Snape, I don't care, but he wasn't freaking out until you all came bursting up here—'

'Well, sorry if I wanted to see you, since I hardly do these days, and you never write anymore—'

From the depths of the room, Draco could hear a low snarl cut her off. Everything became so silent he could hear the breathing of everyone in the hall, who were all watching the open doorway warily. Draco crept up between them to peek inside.

Tonks was just inside the door; beside her stood Ginny, arms folded and eyes narrowed. Potter stood between the two beds, feet placed apart and hands slightly spread in a defensive stance. Behind him crouched what looked like a large, hairy dog in the shadows; golden, glittering eyes glowed from between Potter's legs, while slivers of white teeth appeared and disappeared as the wolf panted.

'Idiots,' Draco breathed, realising what they'd done. He looked at Tonks. 'You need to get Snape, _now_.'

Tonks nodded. She touched Ginny's arm. 'We have to go.'

'I'm not leaving—'

'You must and you will,' Tonks interrupted, circling her hand around Ginny's upper arm and giving it a tug. 'Harry's clearly not in any danger, but _we _are. Let's go.'

'She's right, Gin,' Potter said. 'Just go, I'll be fine.'

Ginny just looked at him. Her eyes were still narrowed, but they were pink at the corners and glistening. 'You used to trust me,' she said.

'I still trust you,' Potter assured her. 'And you need to trust me, right now. Please.'

Had not one of his friends been having a rather furry problem in the centre of all this, Draco would have taken advantage of the moment to point out that Potter was a lousy, dirty cheat and Ginny shouldn't trust him as far as she could throw him, which wouldn't have been very far anyway. But then she wouldn't have left the room for _ages_, and Theodore didn't seem very pleased about her intrusion, and he currently had very large teeth.

Tonks stopped at the door after she'd led Ginny out. 'Draco, are you—'

'No,' Draco said, without turning around. 'He won't do anything to me.'

Tonks hesitated, but eventually nodded and closed the door. Potter collapsed on the bed as the sound of retreating feet echoed down the hall.

'Are you completely off your nut?' Draco demanded, glaring at him. 'What the hell were you thinking, feeding it to him without getting it looked at first?'

'Well we asked you, and you didn't want to, remember?' Potter snapped back.

'I'm not a fully-qualified wizard though, am I?' Draco ran his hands through his hair and began pacing, his eyes trained on the dark spot by the bed Theodore lie crouched in. 'You know as well as I do that you should have let Snape take a look at it before giving it to anyone! You could have bloody poisoned him, or worse!'

'Well it seems to be working, at least,' Potter pointed out. 'He's not attacked anyone yet!'

'And he's a wolf!' Draco also pointed out, a bit hysterically. 'It's only the half moon, Potter! He's not supposed to be a wolf for another ten days! Don't you know what that means? That means that this is very fucking wrong, and things that are very fucking wrong are usually very fucking impossible to fix!'

'I know!' Potter shouted, wringing his fingers through his own hair. 'We didn't think—it was just a simple solution, just a basic prototype, we didn't think it'd do anything at all—'

'Well that shows how bloody good you are at thinking then, doesn't it?!'

A sharp bark interrupted them; the wolf was edging out of the shadows, his ears flat back against his head and fangs bared. Coming into the light, Draco was able to fully appreciate how enormous werewolves were; built like a lion, his shoulder, even while skulking along the floor, reached Draco's hip. His head was the size of a small pony's and his paws were the size of Galleons. The tail was as thick as the brush-end of a broomstick, swaying slightly from side to side as the wolf walked.

He looked from Draco to Harry, but made no move to attack—it was clear the potion was having some of the desired effect, but how much control Theodore had over the wolf Draco didn't know and didn't intend to test. Besides, the potion shouldn't have caused the transformation—not unless something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.

The wolf, apparently pleased they had ceased shouting, sat down on its haunches and raised its ears; he cocked his head at Potter, and started to pant. Draco rolled his eyes.

'Even as a dog, you're a pervert,' he muttered.

Potter started laughing; he was lying across the bed, one arm covering his eyes. It didn't last long—the door behind Draco slammed open so harshly that he leapt to the side, startled, and Theodore attempted to dash under the bed. His shoulders were too massive, however, and he ended up crouching alongside the shadowy underside of the bed.

Draco turned to find Snape standing in the doorway, one palm still outstretched on the open door, his face white with fury.

'You _idiots_,' he snapped. 'What have you done?'

* * *

**Notes**: Yay, wolf!Theodore. I promise, this will be H/D--you just need to be very, very patient. 

_'What's he got that I don't?'  
'Great hair.'_  
- House


End file.
